In Beginning

During Seminary, the paper I'm most proud of was in a J-Term course on Christologies, taught by the incomparable Dr. Cindy Rigby. It was the first class back from her sabbatical, and I felt it was critical for me to at least have one class with her.

I happened upon an essay of hers in a festschrift for Daniel Migliore entitled "Beautiful Playing," which nodded towards Moltmann's book "Theology of Play".

It's hard to find. And I believe it's simply because Moltmann was terribly disappointed with the responses. He writes "the authors and I live in the same one world, and yet in completely different inner spaces. A painful realization."

Cindy, though, in my recollection of her essay, seemed to wonder why no one had taken up the idea of play again within Christologies.

So, hey, why not? I decided to give it a whirl. You can read it if you want.

Cindy loved it. Enough that she suggested I go on to doctoral work, and submit it to Moltmann himself at Princeton.

It got nowhere. And I get why: I, at one point, suggest "that Moltmann is holding a pole on the other end of the spoilsport spectrum." He, in other words, was no more clear hearted about the cross than the three American theologians who responded. It seems the book was abandoned, and he moved to create The Theology of Hope.

I've wanted to return to that paper often, as it undergirds much of my theological thought since then as I continue the vocational work of a pastoral theologian. We are so deeply enamored with setting rules, enforcing them, and all the while, God shows us that we are playing the wrong game, and spoiling what should be.

Yet, to do that, I felt I needed to return to Moltmann again, but this time to "A Crucified God."

Because without divulging more than necessary, this season of my life has invited me more than any other to experience brokenness. And finally, I've allowed it to be something I didn't run away from. I get more than I ever have what the dark night of the soul can look like. And now, beginning on the other side of it, I'm restructuring my sense of vocation. I intend on sharing those pillars in due time.

But for now, I want to take up this book and explore it. A little at a time.

To end this beginning, I wanted to start with this quote:

There is an inner criterion of all theology, and of every church which claims to be Christian, and this criterion goes far beyond all political, ideological, and psychological criticism from outside. It is the crucified Christ himself... it is the criterion of their truth, and therefore the criticism of their untruth. The crisis of the church in present-day society is not merely the critical choice between assimilation or retreat into the ghetto, but the crisis of its own existence as the church of the crucified Christ... faith, the church and theology must demonstrate what they really believe and hope about the man from Nazareth who was crucified under Pontius Pilate, and what practical consequences they wish to draw from this.

In some of my reflections in the last few weeks, I've realized that the vocational reality of ministry is to enter into the most distilled expression of humanity there may be. There is no dualism, no personal obfuscation, no performative respite. For years, I believed there could be a "pastor mode" that could be switched on and off. That's impossible, because it would mean that it is a role to inhabit, and it's either the real soul or not. And on balance, the answer to that either way is ugly. So pastoral ministry is no more than the demand of integration: not assimilation or retreat, but a crisis of existence.

You learn what it is to be really, really, really human.

And you sit with others being really, really, really human.

And you sit with still others who do all they can to avoid being really, really, really human.

That's beautiful and joyous and ugly and painful.

It's multivalent, because humanity relates on micro, mezzo, and macro scales. And the demand of the pastor is to hold it with curiosity and wonder.

And in all the above, for us as humans, it leads to death.

Here's at least the practical consequence for me: ministry will always eat you alive. I think it has to - not as burnout (which is only, I think, the poor coping strategies of performative ministry), but as its own act of crucifixion. I can't yet articulate it any other way.

And so, I personally have to believe in resurrection. Otherwise, I'm a goner.

The kicker is that I think that very well might be what the demand of this walk really is: follow Christ. And believe for yourself that resurrection exists because if you find yourself being consumed, you will live.

Here's the thing I realize: that's not something that a self-soothing commodified religion will say. That's not gonna go viral on TikTok. And yet it's what carries the big numbers and budgets, and it's who everyone flocks to as if the dove has rested upon their heads: this is my beloved... listen to them!

Which ought to then offer itself as evidence to what Moltmann's positing above. But, even still, I refuse to believe that the cross itself might not also be God's moment as the jester, laughing all the way - your rules and standards, humanity, aren't the right rules. We are spoilsports.

So we'll see. Onto the next.