Tags:
6/30/2006
as fresh as ever
I've been reading chapter 8 in Bethge's "Bonhoeffer" on my ipod in the evenings around the campsite. Accompanying the biography I've read his lecture "The Church is Dead" from 1933 out of No Rusty Swords and his sermon "The Church and the People of the World" from the Fano ecumenical conference in 1934. The latter could have almost been written by John Howard Yoder or Stanley Hauerwas! I've been chewing over their ideas lately and was shocked to hear the same refrain here in Bonhoeffer. When I consider that all three are theological ethicists it is not so shocking. For Bonhoeffer the command of Christ for peace is not as concerned with various political considerations. It is a command to be followed. I can almost hear Hauerwas/Yoder's rants against Niebuhr in his words "He or she who questions the commandment of God before obeying has already denied God." But in being so Christocentric Bonhoeffer goes beyond Yoder and Hauerwas. In "The Church is Dead" Bonhoeffer looks squarely at the reality facing the church and says it is this reality, this church, that is called to obedience. Instead of trying to make the church something it is not, a new Kingdom on earth, a new people, it is us justified sinners who are called to obey. I also read about the Oxford Movement's idea to convert Hitler around this time. Bonhoeffer remarked that it was "not Hitler that needs conversion, but us!"
of nails and donuts
On Wednesday we drove down to Cornerstone farm and set up camp.
The right front tire of our van leaked the whole way down. I kept filling it
with air thinking it was nothing. After we set up camp I turned around
and realized the tire was completely flat! Not I hadn't changed a tire
in years! We're talking since college. So I found the jack system and
followed directions from the car manual. Got the tire off and then
bummed a ride up to a compressor to refill it. When I got there I
realized a nail was stuck in the tire. This is where it gets
interesting. I figured I'd roll the tire down the hill to the Rec. hall.
On my way I stopped to talk to a guy who was playing the soundtrack for
the movie "A Mighty Wind" which I'd just seen the evening before. I had
the songs going through my head all morning and then I turn around and
this guy is on the same frequency as my brain!
I kept thinking that I should ask for a ride with my leaky tire. "No, I
don't want to bother anyone." So I'm rolling this tire a quarter of a
mile just so as not to bother anyone. Then I remembered that this fear
of people is actually a form of conceit. When I got to the Rec. hall and
saw that half our stuff had been dropped there I was ready to ask for
help. I went down the hill and explained my woes to one of my pastors
and he gladly sympathized and handed over his car keys. After packing
everything in I drove off and nearly forgot the tire! So I opened the
back hatch of this MPV and crammed the tire on top. The hatch wouldn't
close but it had a nice sort of spring hold so I figured nothing would
fall out. So I set off down the road, driving slow so nothing flies out
the back and I get almost within sight of our tents but up a slight hill
when the hatch lifts up under the weight of the tire and the tire flies
out the back. When I'd been trying to roll the tire that quarter mile I
couldn't get it to stay up for fifteen feet before it would flop. This
time it hit the gravel, bounced a foot and rolled perfectly down the
hill picking up tremendous speed. I slammed on the breaks jumped out and
ran after it down the hill. Alas the tire slammed into the side of a
friend's trailer with a bang that no doubt sounded like bomb going off.
My friend was at his window in a matter of seconds to see me sullenly
waving a rolling the tire back up to the MPV.
Such were my trials on Wednesday night. But the grand end came when
another friend pointed out that I could have simply put on the donut
that was under the van and driven to have it fixed. Explaining the fact
that I drive our cars here at JPUSA as little as possible throughout the
year would take too long. Live and learn.
6/27/2006
Agent of Grace movie discrepancy
While reading in Bethge's biography of Bonhoeffer I've come across what I'll call a discrepancy in the movie documentary "Bonhoeffer: Agent of Grace." I know a lot of people are being introduced to Bonhoeffer for the first time through this film and I do love the film. I have one beef at this point. It describes Bonhoeffer's time in London as an escape of sorts from the church struggle in Germany. The problem is more in what is not said than what is said. He spends eighteen months in London and then comes home and finds things have changed. I'd say that was misleading. The exact words come at 41:51 into the film if you want to check.
"Bonhoeffer removed himself from the crisis by accepting a position with a German church in London England." After this come John DeGruchy's words:
"When Bonhoeffer comes back 18 months later, after he'd gone to London, and becomes involved in the church struggle again, in the first instance it's a struggle around the question of the church's freedom to preach the gospel. Not around the Jewish question. But then gradually Bonhoeffer recognizes that the real question is not the freedom of the church to preach the gospel, the real issue is the freedom of the church to actually stand by the victims."
From what I'm reading in chapter eight (which I have not blogged to yet, sorry) London is a big part of the church struggle. Those expatriot churches outside of Germany are a threat to the Nazi regime early on because of their connection with foreigners. For this reason the Bishop must tread carefully. Bonhoeffer plays this for all its worth. Bethge points out that though this is Bonhoeffer's first pastorate, because he travels every other week back to Berlin and is so involved in bringing word back and forth from inside and out of Germany, he can't settle down into normal pastoral duties. He never fully experiences the peace he intended.
As for DeGruchy's comments, I'll have to come back to this later when I've read the next chapter.
"Bonhoeffer removed himself from the crisis by accepting a position with a German church in London England." After this come John DeGruchy's words:
"When Bonhoeffer comes back 18 months later, after he'd gone to London, and becomes involved in the church struggle again, in the first instance it's a struggle around the question of the church's freedom to preach the gospel. Not around the Jewish question. But then gradually Bonhoeffer recognizes that the real question is not the freedom of the church to preach the gospel, the real issue is the freedom of the church to actually stand by the victims."
From what I'm reading in chapter eight (which I have not blogged to yet, sorry) London is a big part of the church struggle. Those expatriot churches outside of Germany are a threat to the Nazi regime early on because of their connection with foreigners. For this reason the Bishop must tread carefully. Bonhoeffer plays this for all its worth. Bethge points out that though this is Bonhoeffer's first pastorate, because he travels every other week back to Berlin and is so involved in bringing word back and forth from inside and out of Germany, he can't settle down into normal pastoral duties. He never fully experiences the peace he intended.
As for DeGruchy's comments, I'll have to come back to this later when I've read the next chapter.
Tags:
6/22/2006
Red and Blue God review
Red and Blue God. Black and Blue Church: Eyewitness Accounts of How American Churches are Hijacking Jesus, Bagging the Beatitudes, and Worshiping the Almighty Dollar
by Becky Garrison, Jossey-Bass, 2006.
Christianity. Politics. Satire. The three make up an unsavory trinity that is both painful and sweet. Kind of like the fun of preaching a funeral and then running away laughing before the real preacher shows up.
Not that I've ever done that.
There was a time when a little magazine called The Wittenburg Door cornered the market on this trinity. Then came The Simpsons, South Park, and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Pretty soon religio-politico satire became part of mass culture. Even so the question remained, were Christians laughing? I don't know the answer to that. I just think they should be.
Red and Blue God. Black and Blue Church is serious reading from a seasoned Christian satirist. Becky Garrison, senior contributing editor for the Door, is serious about shedding light on the glaring inadequacies in both left and right Christian politics. Beginning with her time spent as a chaplain at Ground Zero soon after the Twin Towers fell on 9/11, Garrison illustrates the difference between real ministry and real love, and sick instances of making a buck in Jesus name. From Ground Zero she moves to the Republican National Convention in 2004. She mills around both in the ultra right circles and at the leftist demonstrations outside. Becky, we learn, is the daughter of an Episcopal priest who was raised to hate all things Conservative. So out of rebellion she flirted with Republicanism in college. The result is a savory and yet sympathetic roasting of each side with a serious interest in picking up the slag that both overlook.
Issues such as homosexuality, abortion, school prayer, AIDS, and poverty get new treatment with all the nuance revealed that more people should know about. Just when you think you've got the issue's pros and cons in hand, Garrison reveals the way Church people ignore and distort real issues and bury their work gloves. See what I mean about serious? So is the book funny? At times I smiled, laughed aloud, dropped my jaw in disbelief, or groaned. How do you make a book serious and funny at the same time? I don't know but Becky Garrison did it. In addition to her own stories and reflections, she packs the book with Door interviews, luminary quotes, and even a great song lyric from the Austin Lounge Lizards titled "Jesus loves me (but he can't stand you)".
This kind of book creates a problem for me as a pencilneck. A brief history of Satire as a genre reveals that it has a very fragile effect. Take for instance Jonathan Swift's book Gulliver's Travels. No doubt intended as a satire and parody, it was instantly popular as some sort of child's fantasy and later as proto-science fiction. Would it have become one of the classics of the English language if people had gotten the joke? Well, when Swift got more pointed with his book A Modest Proposal: For Preventing the Children of Poor People in Ireland from Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Publick his readers did get the joke, and they were not laughing. He faced harsh criticism for its' "bad taste" and came close to losing his livelihood.
Unlike factoid writing, satire uses irony, which makes the assumption that the audience is on the side of reason. Brozowski and Mazlish have written that satire
quote:
"assumes a civilized opponent who is sufficiently sensitive to feel the barbs of wit leveled at him. To hold something up to ridicule presupposes a certain respect for reason, on both sides, to which one can appeal. An Age of Reason, in which everyone accepts the notion that conduct must be reasonable, is, therefore, a general prerequisite for satire." The Western Intellectual Tradition From Leonardo to Hegel, p. 252 (1960; as repub. in 1993 Barnes & Noble ed.)
Satirists are constantly accused of nihilism - attempting to destroy and leave nothing - when truthfully their attention is itself a flattering of the object. Take for example the occasion of Stephen Colbert's "flattery" of George W. Bush at the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner April 29, 2006:
quote:
"We're not so different, he and I. We get it. We're not brainiacs on the nerd patrol. We're not members of the factinista. We go straight from the gut, right sir? That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut. Do you know you have more nerve endings in your gut than you have in your head? You can look it up. I know some of you are going to say "I did look it up, and that's not true." That's 'cause you looked it up in a book. Next time, look it up in your gut. I did. My gut tells me that's how our nervous system works. Every night on my show, the Colbert Report, I speak straight from the gut, OK? I give people the truth, unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the "No Fact Zone." Fox News, I hold a copyright on that term."
The reactions to this scathing satire were mixed. Some liberals lauded Colbert as a prophet. But the question on many people's minds was "how could Bush just sit there beside Colbert so unaffected?" If the satire were such a sharp rebuke did the President just not get it? Or did he feel completely removed from the joke?
In an interview for SMH the "king of sophisticated satire" Tom Lehrer remarks, "'I'm not tempted to write a song about George W. Bush. I couldn't figure out what sort of song I would write. That's the problem: I don't want to satirise George Bush and his puppeteers, I want to vaporise them." The article goes on to articulate the difference between what Lehrer regards as witty humor, what is difficult to satirize, and what is off limits. Just because something can be turned into a joke doesn't mean it has serious effect.
Satire has many devices, but used effectively it has a constructive end in mind. With Christians I see satire used as a painful way of showing love. Pouring iodine on wounds, it creates strength and builds an immune system in the object. In our day and age it can rouse our political sympathies and play off them, but because the American audience is largely immune it rarely sparks interest or changes minds.
The Church is a body with many very different members, offering a picture of diversity and impartiality in who can be called part of the Body universal. In service to the Church satire creates a boundary situation. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said that "only in the conflict of wills does genuine life arise." (Sanctorum Communio) Satire has the potential to show us greater possibilities and help us laugh at the uniformity we needlessly demand. A recent story in the Wittenburg Door imagines various leading social activists (Ron Sider, Tony Campolo, and Jim Wallis) as rap gangster archetypes. Ron Sider with bling hung all over him talkin' smack is the most outrageously diverse and "other" idea possible!
The Trinity Foundation which publishes the Wittenburg Door embodies a way of life that begs to differ with those who think of satire as criticism without responsibility. They sponsor The Dallas Project, a challenge for religious folk to adopt 10 to 20 families who are homeless or on welfare to turn their lives around. The Oklahoma and Dayton projects provide affordable housing. As a ministry they try to live the first century Christian experience of community in a section of row housing in Dallas. A few years back I visited and witnessed first hand testimonies of lives destroyed by the effects of rich televangelists, but brought full circle back into the Church through their community. They also run a nationwide victims' help line for those taken in by televangelists. Yes, I found out this is serious business.
The Door has used satire as a patient, humble, kindly healing resource for an Evangelical subculture badly in need of the ability to laugh at itself. It takes the long view of that project. In the short term the jabs get very dated. In the long term it's stated mission is "to bring down to size those persons, institutions, and movements of whatever perspective - any and all - who abuse religion or use it for their own personal benefit." Within that long tradition, Becky Garrison, for instance, is not shy about asking why clergy affiliated with Yale Divinity School, who talk so much about the social gospel, will bankroll clergy with a lifestyle befitting the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. (Red and Blue God pg. 100-101.)
I have a lot of hope for satire as a genre. I happen to think it communicates the nuances of faith with a lot of potential. But then the cynical side of me (the same one that feeds my love for satire) wonders if ours is a society that can appreciate satire effectively.
Yet I notice that satire, like faith, makes no sense to the uninitiated. It takes a community to instill faith effectively. Oscar Romero reminds us that "we are workers, not master builders-ministers, not messiahs." If Jesus is about saving people and not institutions than, in the long view, faith is a sensible proposition. In the same way though satire may not sway the masses or unseat institutions it might plant some seed and paint a picture. To borrow an old line from a Larry Norman song, "a song can't stop the world, but it might stop you."
Satire
Wittenburg Door
more reading on satire
Tom Lehrer interview
Tags:
6/20/2006
6/19/2006
Every year around this time. . .
Every year around this time I begin mentally, emotionally and spiritually preparing myself for the Event that uproots and scatters me from my small existence. Usually my existence is spent traveling between three rooms in an aging hotel and one chair and a computer in an aging Armory building across the street. There is a lake nestled in a little piece of farmland downstate in Illinois where every year for the last fifteen years my church has been organizing a music, arts and teaching festival for tens of thousands of Christians. I attended for the first time back in 1992. Since that time there are a few things that have remained the same. The lake is still there. The main road. The port-o-potties. The tents. John Perkins. A bunch of dedicated world weary yet committed souls who speak of "Grey's Lake." (The original site of Cornerstone which from 1984 to 1991 was situated north of Chicago.)
All the bands I came to see at age 18 now have children who hang out at the Goth stage. When I arrived that first year I had caravaned up from St. Louis with friends. We pulled in to the gate and just set up tent where ever we saw a free spot. That happened to be in the big main field behind Exhibition 1. On day 3 we had no shade, no water, and our neighbors were brewing up a fist fight. There we stood around the car listening and waiting to pull the big mouthy friend of our friend out from under the kindly, very patient and quiet but very fit man he was verbally assaulting. Our friend of a friend sauntered away after realizing his insults were meaningless. No blood was spilt, only pride was wounded.
So now after ten years let me recap my ritual at Cornerstone Festival. We try to arrive as many days before the the fest as possible to set up. My wife and I have three children. After arriving on the fest grounds we drive down another half mile to our camp site situated in a shady spot between two friends with trailers. I unpack the van and lug everything to the bare grassy spot. We have like three or four tents. I can't remember which. We start with the big three room family tent. An hour later we start putting up the other two tents for storage. Around us typically camp other friends. Oh yeah, that fourth tent is a big screen with a picnic table in it which is the dining room for the family and friends. The picnic table. Finding a picnic table a half mile across the grounds and getting it hauled back to the camp takes a half day.
You know, I usually block all thoughts of this until I arrive on the grounds. My mind is in serious rebellion right now. But I'll trudge on. After the set up we secure electricity and water from various places. Then we hire protection for these from armed guards. Just kidding. It's all down-hill from here. Barring any significant extreme heat by day, cold by night, wind, dust, rain, lightning, bugs, poison ivy or medical emergencies. Now I'm having fun!
I've worked a few different jobs at the festival. Security, Registration, watering the road, and for the last five years: the bookstore. Watering the road? Yes, this spontaneous act of servant hood will forever rank among the most menial and debasing jobs I've ever done for Jesus. I'd just arrived back from Chicago mid-fest and was wandering around asking how to be helpful. The guy that lived at the end of the hall from me back in Chicago was driving the water truck. The hose that dispersed the water wouldn't stay still on the road so he had the idea to have me hold it and follow behind him. You can see where this is going. By the end of the front gate road I was covered in soapy scuzzy shower water. My leather sandals were soaked and full of gravel and every car waiting to get in the front gate were alerted to my stupid act of servitude.
So anyway, the bookstore. Inventory. Packing. Setting up. Open in the morning. Dust. Clean. Set right. Train volunteers. Inventory. Secure. Answer questions. Be courteous for four days.
Everyone behind the scenes at Cornerstone has a different story. Some little routine they've done for a lot longer than me. I never cease to be amazed at how much they really enjoy it! One guy I know seems to live for Cornerstone. He throws himself into every aspect of his job in expectation. He talks about it so excitedly and I just stand amazed and grateful. Someone has to be this way. I guess I just get up every day and try to remember to do the next right thing. I can't see into my fellow community member's minds but I'm astounded at their teamwork, generosity, genuine kindness, and service poured out every year. I don't know if they inwardly groan as I do or go through the same mental exercises in preparation.
By the grace of God the festival has traveled from a crazy experiment turned miracle into a mainstay that I fear is often taken for granted. Summer arrives, the fourth of July, Cornerstone Festival. Time to rock-n-roll and party.
Please remember the other people behind the festival. The volunteers who travel hours to stand in the hot sun and direct traffic. The youth groups who collect the miles of trash from the fields afterward.
Last year I got pummeled by some slingshot water balloon action in the wee hours of the morning. I was shocked and angry at being the brunt of some adult children. After the fest I saw that these same folks had hung their entire camp in the tree above their campsite. Later I heard that a JPUSA mom had come by and forced the largest child among them to remove every item from the tree as she looked on with her arms crossed. I made a point of asking the volunteer coordinator about this group after checking their license plate. With a patient knowing smile she told me all about this group of campers. This was church that took two weeks out of their summer to do all the little things before, during, and after the fest. They had a strong core group of Christians and some "others" they'd brought along they were trying to influence. Whoever had done the misdeeds (believers or not) they more than compensated for their wrongs. Boy did I feel like a curmudgeon for my petty bitterness. Next time someone wrongs you remember that you don't know the whole story.
Why do 20,000 people seek out a camping community for four days around America's Independence day? I would like to say it's for Jesus. (The date by the way, for the first time ever, is likely to change hereafter.) Is it for the fellowship? The music, the arts, the teaching? The crowd watching? Is it an endurance test? No. I think its just this miraculous act of service that many churches from many confessions manage to finish by each doing a small part. Who is getting rich as a result? No one I know. Everyone gets just what is needed to do the job. A lot of prayer goes up and is answered. Hopefully a lot of love is extended where it is needed and a gospel message is embodied in a small way. "They will know you are believers by your Love." I'll try to do my part in that this year.
All the bands I came to see at age 18 now have children who hang out at the Goth stage. When I arrived that first year I had caravaned up from St. Louis with friends. We pulled in to the gate and just set up tent where ever we saw a free spot. That happened to be in the big main field behind Exhibition 1. On day 3 we had no shade, no water, and our neighbors were brewing up a fist fight. There we stood around the car listening and waiting to pull the big mouthy friend of our friend out from under the kindly, very patient and quiet but very fit man he was verbally assaulting. Our friend of a friend sauntered away after realizing his insults were meaningless. No blood was spilt, only pride was wounded.
So now after ten years let me recap my ritual at Cornerstone Festival. We try to arrive as many days before the the fest as possible to set up. My wife and I have three children. After arriving on the fest grounds we drive down another half mile to our camp site situated in a shady spot between two friends with trailers. I unpack the van and lug everything to the bare grassy spot. We have like three or four tents. I can't remember which. We start with the big three room family tent. An hour later we start putting up the other two tents for storage. Around us typically camp other friends. Oh yeah, that fourth tent is a big screen with a picnic table in it which is the dining room for the family and friends. The picnic table. Finding a picnic table a half mile across the grounds and getting it hauled back to the camp takes a half day.
You know, I usually block all thoughts of this until I arrive on the grounds. My mind is in serious rebellion right now. But I'll trudge on. After the set up we secure electricity and water from various places. Then we hire protection for these from armed guards. Just kidding. It's all down-hill from here. Barring any significant extreme heat by day, cold by night, wind, dust, rain, lightning, bugs, poison ivy or medical emergencies. Now I'm having fun!
I've worked a few different jobs at the festival. Security, Registration, watering the road, and for the last five years: the bookstore. Watering the road? Yes, this spontaneous act of servant hood will forever rank among the most menial and debasing jobs I've ever done for Jesus. I'd just arrived back from Chicago mid-fest and was wandering around asking how to be helpful. The guy that lived at the end of the hall from me back in Chicago was driving the water truck. The hose that dispersed the water wouldn't stay still on the road so he had the idea to have me hold it and follow behind him. You can see where this is going. By the end of the front gate road I was covered in soapy scuzzy shower water. My leather sandals were soaked and full of gravel and every car waiting to get in the front gate were alerted to my stupid act of servitude.
So anyway, the bookstore. Inventory. Packing. Setting up. Open in the morning. Dust. Clean. Set right. Train volunteers. Inventory. Secure. Answer questions. Be courteous for four days.
Everyone behind the scenes at Cornerstone has a different story. Some little routine they've done for a lot longer than me. I never cease to be amazed at how much they really enjoy it! One guy I know seems to live for Cornerstone. He throws himself into every aspect of his job in expectation. He talks about it so excitedly and I just stand amazed and grateful. Someone has to be this way. I guess I just get up every day and try to remember to do the next right thing. I can't see into my fellow community member's minds but I'm astounded at their teamwork, generosity, genuine kindness, and service poured out every year. I don't know if they inwardly groan as I do or go through the same mental exercises in preparation.
By the grace of God the festival has traveled from a crazy experiment turned miracle into a mainstay that I fear is often taken for granted. Summer arrives, the fourth of July, Cornerstone Festival. Time to rock-n-roll and party.
Please remember the other people behind the festival. The volunteers who travel hours to stand in the hot sun and direct traffic. The youth groups who collect the miles of trash from the fields afterward.
Last year I got pummeled by some slingshot water balloon action in the wee hours of the morning. I was shocked and angry at being the brunt of some adult children. After the fest I saw that these same folks had hung their entire camp in the tree above their campsite. Later I heard that a JPUSA mom had come by and forced the largest child among them to remove every item from the tree as she looked on with her arms crossed. I made a point of asking the volunteer coordinator about this group after checking their license plate. With a patient knowing smile she told me all about this group of campers. This was church that took two weeks out of their summer to do all the little things before, during, and after the fest. They had a strong core group of Christians and some "others" they'd brought along they were trying to influence. Whoever had done the misdeeds (believers or not) they more than compensated for their wrongs. Boy did I feel like a curmudgeon for my petty bitterness. Next time someone wrongs you remember that you don't know the whole story.
Why do 20,000 people seek out a camping community for four days around America's Independence day? I would like to say it's for Jesus. (The date by the way, for the first time ever, is likely to change hereafter.) Is it for the fellowship? The music, the arts, the teaching? The crowd watching? Is it an endurance test? No. I think its just this miraculous act of service that many churches from many confessions manage to finish by each doing a small part. Who is getting rich as a result? No one I know. Everyone gets just what is needed to do the job. A lot of prayer goes up and is answered. Hopefully a lot of love is extended where it is needed and a gospel message is embodied in a small way. "They will know you are believers by your Love." I'll try to do my part in that this year.
Tags:
6/12/2006
plodding through Bonhoeffer # 5 "America"
pg. 147-172 Eberhard Bethge, "Bonhoeffer"
On vacation I kept up on my reading in Bethge, Green, and Sanctorum Communio. In real time I'm up to 1933 but I'll recap here for you my reflections on Bonhoeffer's first journey to America. For some reason this chapter is one that I have read more than a few times over the years. I think I must have heard more about Bonhoeffer's first visit to America than anything else. To reread it again as it fits in relation to his student years and early theological work gives it a much different feel. He's a young student who doesn't think much of an American theological education or it's requirements. A friend advises that he thinks of it like secondary school. His love for dogmatics makes him an alien at Union Theological Seminary. Instead of attending chapel he hangs out with his friend Frank Fischer in Harlem. He brings home to Germany his new love for African American spirituality. He relates their impact to his students and fellow Finkenwalde members in story and song.
Seeing the film"The Motorcycle Diaries" makes me think of Bonhoeffer's journey across America in a borrowed automobile. Wouldn't it be magnificent to know more about this journey with friends? Before this first trip to America Dietrich is much less politically inclined. His pastoral burden shines for sure in Barcelona, but in America the social gospel taught at Union managed to climb into his thinking. The French pacifist Jean Lasserre became a good friend during this trip and his influence is seen in the following chapter, particularly in the ecumenical work. Paul Lehmann (the Theological Ethicist who I surmise was able to fully develop an Ethic where Bonhoeffer left off) provided a home for Bonhoeffer on this trip. I worked through the book Humanization and the Politics of God: The Koinonia Ethics of Paul Lehmann by Nancy Duff at least five years ago and I still believe Lehmann's is the most convincing ethical path I've encountered. I have found troublesome logic in his The Decalogue and a Human Future (his final work) but in all honesty I stopped reading it and so haven't been able to engage it in a real conversation. I know I've digressed here but my point is that Lehmann is a keystone in both his relationship to Bonhoeffer, his engagement with his thought, and his study of German history and the aftermath of the post-war. I'm not aware of much focus of Paul Lehmann these days. But he deserves our attention.
These three friends: Frank Fischer, Jean Lasserre, and Paul Lehmann could make the subject of a wonderful book in and of themselves. It would take some work for someone to unearth and survey their paths but I'd read and review it!
Anyway back to the chapter at hand. Another thing I found of interest was Bonhoeffer's tutelage in the philosophical works of William James to try to understand the American way of thinking. Bonhoeffer wrote:
I say these things not because I want Bonhoeffer extricated from the American mind and put into an intellectual ivory tower, but because I think the struggle to understand him in his full complexity should be engaged and attempted. I find in his writings (and I consider myself only a neophyte) a struggle to make faith real and practical and to really understand Jesus' claims and God's heart. The more I read the more I am compelled to read. If I as a German illiterate and college drop out can attempt that so can anyone.
I know this post has turned out much more topical than chronological. Again it is because I think too much cursory treatment is already made of this first trip to America. Much more is contained in No Rusty Swords pg. 67-113 than I can say here.
On vacation I kept up on my reading in Bethge, Green, and Sanctorum Communio. In real time I'm up to 1933 but I'll recap here for you my reflections on Bonhoeffer's first journey to America. For some reason this chapter is one that I have read more than a few times over the years. I think I must have heard more about Bonhoeffer's first visit to America than anything else. To reread it again as it fits in relation to his student years and early theological work gives it a much different feel. He's a young student who doesn't think much of an American theological education or it's requirements. A friend advises that he thinks of it like secondary school. His love for dogmatics makes him an alien at Union Theological Seminary. Instead of attending chapel he hangs out with his friend Frank Fischer in Harlem. He brings home to Germany his new love for African American spirituality. He relates their impact to his students and fellow Finkenwalde members in story and song.
Seeing the film"The Motorcycle Diaries" makes me think of Bonhoeffer's journey across America in a borrowed automobile. Wouldn't it be magnificent to know more about this journey with friends? Before this first trip to America Dietrich is much less politically inclined. His pastoral burden shines for sure in Barcelona, but in America the social gospel taught at Union managed to climb into his thinking. The French pacifist Jean Lasserre became a good friend during this trip and his influence is seen in the following chapter, particularly in the ecumenical work. Paul Lehmann (the Theological Ethicist who I surmise was able to fully develop an Ethic where Bonhoeffer left off) provided a home for Bonhoeffer on this trip. I worked through the book Humanization and the Politics of God: The Koinonia Ethics of Paul Lehmann by Nancy Duff at least five years ago and I still believe Lehmann's is the most convincing ethical path I've encountered. I have found troublesome logic in his The Decalogue and a Human Future (his final work) but in all honesty I stopped reading it and so haven't been able to engage it in a real conversation. I know I've digressed here but my point is that Lehmann is a keystone in both his relationship to Bonhoeffer, his engagement with his thought, and his study of German history and the aftermath of the post-war. I'm not aware of much focus of Paul Lehmann these days. But he deserves our attention.
These three friends: Frank Fischer, Jean Lasserre, and Paul Lehmann could make the subject of a wonderful book in and of themselves. It would take some work for someone to unearth and survey their paths but I'd read and review it!
Anyway back to the chapter at hand. Another thing I found of interest was Bonhoeffer's tutelage in the philosophical works of William James to try to understand the American way of thinking. Bonhoeffer wrote:
In them, particularly in James, I found the key to understanding the modern theological language and ways of thought of the liberal, enlightened American. . . . Questions such as that of Kantian epistemology are "nonsense," and no problem to htem, because they take life no further. It is not truth, but "works" that is "valid," and that is their criterion. (Bethge, pg. 161)The fact that Bonhoeffer so wanted to bridge the cultural and intellectual gap in his understanding says something about him. It's also indicative of a gap that we as his readers should grasp. All the American scholarship on Bonhoeffer, the hundreds of books in the bibliographies compiled, seem to take for granted that we have this connection to him by virtue of some spiritual affinity. I find however that the more I read of Bonhoeffer the further I am removed from actual theological proximity. The case in point would be trying to read Sanctorum Communio, then Act and Being, then his Christology lectures, and then finally The Cost of Discipleship. I saw that an Amazon.com reviewer is doing that now. I know so many readers of The Cost of Discipleship. That work is undoubtedly the only work most will ever read. And of that work I surmise only the first few chapters!
I say these things not because I want Bonhoeffer extricated from the American mind and put into an intellectual ivory tower, but because I think the struggle to understand him in his full complexity should be engaged and attempted. I find in his writings (and I consider myself only a neophyte) a struggle to make faith real and practical and to really understand Jesus' claims and God's heart. The more I read the more I am compelled to read. If I as a German illiterate and college drop out can attempt that so can anyone.
I know this post has turned out much more topical than chronological. Again it is because I think too much cursory treatment is already made of this first trip to America. Much more is contained in No Rusty Swords pg. 67-113 than I can say here.
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6/06/2006
Update/Vacation
Let me update you on the last several weeks. From May 22nd to June 1 I traveled down to Bushnell, IL, USA for vacation. We stayed in a nice little cozy trailer borrowed from friends. Just down the hill is a beautiful lake on which we fished and made noise. Gabrielle caught the cutest little sun fish, which btw, did not die though dropped and carried and held for quite a long time! I was a bit worried because it stopped moving. But then when we dropped it back in the lake it took off like a jet.
On vacation we watched Hoodwinked, Zorro II, Madagascar, a Barbie movie, The Count of Monte Cristo, Kyonnisqatsi, Mr. 3000, the Star Wars Saga, Looney Tunes movie and shows, Garfield. . . . and that's about all I can remember. Needless to say lots of fluff--except for Kyonnisqatsi (I know I'm spelling it wrong but consistently wrong!). I so didn't get the music from K. that I got out my guitar to cover it up. The sound of K. and my guitar were enough to drive my wife screaming from the room. Great movie, artsy-fartsy soundtrack, but fine with Honky Tonk licks played in unison. We played a lot outside. Dug our own worms for fishing. Cooked over a campfire. Set up a tent. Found a live opossum in our trash can and had to throw it in the woods. Ran over a large snapping turtle backing out down the drive way (it took days to forgive myself) and had to throw it in the woods. Got hundreds of mosquito bites between us. Gabrielle proudly counted all of hers and beat her brother handedly. Though now it looks like some were poison ivy. All of the kids spent important time wandering or sitting alone in nature. I kept shouting the line from Madagascar "Nature!! It's all over me! Get it off!!"
On Saturday night I went to US Cellular Field and saw White Sox beat the Texas Rangers with a couple of real lifelong Sox fans. I got to hear the running commentary from the radio after the game. Before that we had Chinese food down in Chinatown. It's great being an Uptown Chicagoan with Southside friends and allegiances. "In the world but not of it"--ya know?
On vacation we watched Hoodwinked, Zorro II, Madagascar, a Barbie movie, The Count of Monte Cristo, Kyonnisqatsi, Mr. 3000, the Star Wars Saga, Looney Tunes movie and shows, Garfield. . . . and that's about all I can remember. Needless to say lots of fluff--except for Kyonnisqatsi (I know I'm spelling it wrong but consistently wrong!). I so didn't get the music from K. that I got out my guitar to cover it up. The sound of K. and my guitar were enough to drive my wife screaming from the room. Great movie, artsy-fartsy soundtrack, but fine with Honky Tonk licks played in unison. We played a lot outside. Dug our own worms for fishing. Cooked over a campfire. Set up a tent. Found a live opossum in our trash can and had to throw it in the woods. Ran over a large snapping turtle backing out down the drive way (it took days to forgive myself) and had to throw it in the woods. Got hundreds of mosquito bites between us. Gabrielle proudly counted all of hers and beat her brother handedly. Though now it looks like some were poison ivy. All of the kids spent important time wandering or sitting alone in nature. I kept shouting the line from Madagascar "Nature!! It's all over me! Get it off!!"
On Saturday night I went to US Cellular Field and saw White Sox beat the Texas Rangers with a couple of real lifelong Sox fans. I got to hear the running commentary from the radio after the game. Before that we had Chinese food down in Chinatown. It's great being an Uptown Chicagoan with Southside friends and allegiances. "In the world but not of it"--ya know?
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