How Did Jesus Let Go of His Cross?

"Christ Ascending from the Cross"

by sculptor Huberto Maestas.

I would have been angry. And exhausted. And resentful, bitter, unforgiving. And not just of those who tortured me verbally and physically, spitting in my face, nailing me to that cross, but all those who looked away, pretending it wasn’t happening or worse, that it wasn’t important, and fearful of a similar fate if they defended me. 

Those fair-weather multitudes I fed with spiritual truths and a little boy’s lunch: where were they? Those I healed with prayer and touch? Those I made glad with the egalitarian promises and parables of the kingdom of God among us? 

And my disciples, cowering in hiding! Betrayed, denied, abandoned by those dearest to me, who professed to “love” me. Worse yet, they never seemed to really “get” me, never seemed to understand what I was about, never fully bought into my passion for the world and my compassion for all the little ones in this world. 

No wonder I felt God-forsaken. 

If it weren’t for the women who followed me and that closeted disciple Nicodemus, I would still be up on that cross, to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field as my muscles stretched to the breaking point in the heat of the sun, my lungs gasping for air. 

Now, thank God, I can rest in peace. The tomb is cool and dark, the strips of cloth hugging my wounds, the cold stone holding me, my mind and heart at rest, at rest in God. Will anything come of my sacrifice? The way I lived my life for others? The insights the Spirit spoke through my words and my ways? God only knows. 

I’m glad to be away from all the noise and chaos outside. I never want to go back there again. Though, there were moments of tranquility and comfort—going up on a mountain to pray alone with God, Mary anointing my feet with a fragrant oil, the beloved disciple cuddling on my lap during our last meal. I feel sorrow for them, but I can no longer help them. I can’t get out of here; this is it. 

But then to my surprise, God calls me into action again. I rise to the occasion. Each one who witnesses this resurrection is of two minds*, belief and doubt, from the first to the last. Belief will give them hope; doubt will cause despair. But this is how I let go of my cross: I choose to believe.

 

* Matthew’s description of witnesses to the resurrection that some believed while others doubted is better translated that each witness was of two minds. The word used literally means “standing in two places.” That is comforting. 

Thanks to Rev. Ashley Calhoun for today’s photo by Richard Tohline of “Christ Ascending from the Cross” by sculptor Huberto Maestas located at St. Francis of Assisi Roman Catholic Church in Castlerock, Colorado.

FYI-I considered retiring from my blog on its tenth anniversary in February but didn’t want to “abandon” readers during the pandemic! My brother suggested I run “the best of” posts, and I decided to run past posts that still speak to current issues. This will also give me the opportunity to write a new post occasionally. Thanks for your continued support! Today’s post is from April 8, 2015. 

Copyright © 2015 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. 

Tax-deductible donations may be made safely to the “Chris Glaser Archive” through the Tribute Gift section of The Center for LGBTQ and Gender Studies in Religion. 

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How Did Jesus Let Go of His Cross?

I would have been angry. And exhausted. And resentful, bitter, unforgiving. And not just of those who tortured me verbally and physically, spitting in my face, nailing me to that cross, but all those who looked away, pretending it wasn’t happening or worse, that it wasn’t important, and fearful of a similar fate if they defended me.

Those fair-weather multitudes I fed with spiritual truths and a little boy’s lunch: where were they? Those I healed with prayer and touch? Those I made glad with the egalitarian promises and parables of the kingdom of God among us?

And my disciples, cowering in hiding! Betrayed, denied, abandoned by those dearest to me, who professed to “love” me. Worse yet, they never seemed to really “get” me, never seemed to understand what I was about, never fully bought into my passion for the world and my compassion for all the little ones in this world.

No wonder I felt God-forsaken.

If it weren’t for the women who followed me and that closeted disciple Nicodemus, I would still be up on that cross, to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field as my muscles stretched to the breaking point in the heat of the sun, my lungs gasping for air.

Now, thank God, I can rest in peace. The tomb is cool and dark, the strips of cloth hugging my wounds, the cold stone holding me, my mind and heart at rest, at rest in God. Will anything come of my sacrifice? The way I lived my life for others? The insights the Spirit spoke through my words and my ways? God only knows.

I’m glad to be away from all the noise and chaos outside. I never want to go back there again. Though, there were moments of tranquility and comfort—going up on a mountain to pray alone with God, Mary anointing my feet with a fragrant oil, the beloved disciple cuddling on my lap during our last meal. I feel sorrow for them, but I can no longer help them. I can’t get out of here; this is it.

But then to my surprise, God calls me into action again. I rise to the occasion. Each one who witnesses this resurrection is of two minds*, belief and doubt, from the first to the last. Belief will give them hope; doubt will cause despair. But this is how I let go of my cross: I choose to believe.

* Matthew’s description of witnesses to the resurrection that some believed while others doubted, is better translated that each witness was of two minds. The word used literally means “standing in two places.” That is comforting.

Copyright © 2015 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. “Progressive Christian Reflections” is an authorized Emerging Ministry of Metropolitan Community Churches.

Bill Maher's Fundamentalism

This post appeared in last week’s Huffington Post, receiving over 200 “likes” and over 200 comments.

I am a Bill Maher fan. My partner and I regularly watch the political comedian’s show on HBO, and we share his political leanings. Though he doesn’t quite “get” the need for or role of myth, he fulfills the traditional and mythological role of “fool to the king,” using barbed wit to speak truth to power. And he expresses the anger and frustration many of us progressives feel toward “the powers that be.”

Saturday night before last we attended his live performance here in Atlanta. The friends I accompanied wondered how his religious barbs might affect me. All I could say was that I agreed with most of them, mainly because he was not directing them at the religion I practice.

For example, I agree that religion and science are mutually exclusive categories, but it’s not an either/or choice, for each serve different purposes. Some of the most respected theologians and contemplatives have been scientists, doctors, and mathematicians themselves. Personally, my faith would not be as vital and progressive were it not for scientific discoveries and revelations.

Though Bill Maher thinks he is dissing all religion and spirituality, he actually attacks what I would call grade school religion. He even hinted at some respect for the new pope, whom I would describe as representing graduate school religion and above.

His reference to “the Jewish fairy tales” of Hebrew scriptures sounded unintentionally ironic to me, given that the Jewish prophets played the same role of playing “fool to the king,” speaking truth to power, and could be said to be the moral and spiritual basis for Maher’s own criticism, both of political leaders who fail the poor and marginalized, and religious leaders who place priority on worship and purity over justice and mercy, as well as his desire to set a fire under the electorate to do something about it. Another Jewish prophet, Jesus, did much the same.

Rather than give credit to Mother Teresa’s ability to doubt her faith, referencing her posthumously published letters, Maher used it as “proof” that religion is a crock of ----.

Psychiatrist and spiritual explorer M. Scott Peck once defined evil as “the unquestioned self,” the inability of an individual or institution to even imagine being wrong. Thus I believe that in faith, doubt is a virtue. Just as in science.

Maher’s certainties about religion mirror the certainties of fundamentalists, rather than the whole of faith. I believe he would appreciate Bishop Jack Spong’s quip, perhaps quoting someone, “Religion is like a public pool. Most of the noise comes from the shallow end.”

Each Wednesday of Lent, I am providing links for the following six days, should you wish to use this blog as a Lenten resource for reflection.

Thursday:     The Benefit of Doubt

Friday:           A New Underground Railroad

Saturday:      "One Nation Under God"

Sunday:         The Making of You

Monday:        Dust and Glory

Tuesday:       Piety on Parade  

Progressive Christian Reflections is an authorized Emerging Ministry of MCC supported solely by readers. Please click here for more information or to make a tax-deductible donation. Thank you!

Consider using a post or quotes in personal reflection, worship, newsletters, and classes, referencing the blog address when possible: http://chrisglaser.blogspot.com.

Check out past posts in the right rail on the blogsite.

Copyright © 2014 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. 

The Benefit of Doubt

There lives more faith in honest doubt,

Believe me, than in half the creeds.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

This quote appears on the homepage of my website. It comes toward the end of Tennyson’s elegy, In Memoriam: A. H. H., penned over a 17-year period about his dear friend Arthur Hallam, who died suddenly at age 22. As they had done as part of a group of friends at Cambridge known as “the Apostles,” the poem struggles with faith and doubt.

The love between the men, even though Hallam was engaged to Tennyson’s sister, intrigued me when I read it as a late teen struggling with my own romantic inclinations toward men and for God. I marked these two lines not only with a yellow highlighter, but subsequently underlined them in blue pen, writing “great” in the margin. Closer to the end of the poem’s 131 sections, I highlighted seven stanzas and wrote “My own struggle” in the margin. This poem gave us the famed line, “Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all.”

The poem’s prologue, written after the poem’s completion—thus after 17 years of anguished hope and doubt—seems to allude to doubting Thomas in its fourth line, “Believing where we cannot prove.” Though biblical scholarship suggests that the Johannine school, exclusively responsible for casting Thomas as a doubter, did so because of disagreements with the Thomasine school, Thomas could be considered the patron saint of doubters.

In our cynical times, much is made about the need to believe. And cynicism IS problematic when it dismisses all belief out of hand, thus Tennyson’s emphasis on “honest doubt.” But to know honestly what we truly believe, we must be encouraged to acknowledge our doubts. Here are a few doubts that help me:

Doubt yourself. This flies in the face of self-esteem systems that make you the center of the universe in control of your own destiny, but it makes for modesty and humility that behooves a speck on a speck circling a speck in the infinite cosmos.

Doubt religion. This comes more easily to progressive Christians, but I’d say we need also to doubt our own religious pretensions that we’ve got the answers.

Doubt government. This too is easy, as not even democratically-elected governments always behave in a democratic manner, sharing decision-making power. And why, for instance, is one who reveals the mistakes of a corporation called a whistleblower while one who reveals national mistakes called a traitor?

Doubt leaders. Not true leaders, who act altruistically rather than out of self-interest. But discernment of the spirits is key: whose agenda reflects Jesus’ concern for the poor, the oppressed, the outcast, the sick, the homeless, the vulnerable, the imprisoned?

Doubt business. Even business doubts business, because business people know themselves oh too well.

Doubt science. This too almost goes without saying, as the very basis of science requires empirical skepticism, repeatedly testing one’s findings and theories. Yet again “honest doubt” should not include rejecting things out of hand, theories that have already amassed an overwhelming body of evidence, like evolution.

Doubt art and artistic expressions. Beauty, creativity, and innovation can be enlarging or simply the result of market forces, bias, and deficiencies.

Doubt doubt. Just as beliefs need questioning, doubts do too. And some beliefs deserve “the benefit of the doubt”!

Ultimately Tennyson, in his own study of the sciences and his spiritual struggles, confessed faith over doubt as well as doubt over faith in his prologue, written after his 17 years of pondering: 

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be;

They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

Progressive Christian Reflections is an authorized Emerging Ministry of MCC. Your donations by mail or credit card are its only means of support. Thank you!

Related posts:

A Theory of Everything

What I Don’t Believe, What I Do Believe

Copyright © 2013 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. Check out past posts in the right rail on the blogsite. Consider using a post or quotes in personal reflection, worship, newsletters, and classes, referencing the blog address when possible: http://chrisglaser.blogspot.com. 

How Well Do Progressive Christians Fish?

Copyright © 2011 by Chris R. Glaser. All rights reserved.

When Jesus called some of his disciples, who were fishermen, he told them he would make them fishers of people. He used a metaphor for their calling that they could readily grasp. A net is flexible, stretching to include as many fish as possible.

In a resurrection story from John, Jesus tells his disciples on which side of the boat to cast their net. From his vantage point on shore, he could possibly see a school of fish—a dark patch in the water or the froth of swimming fish. He had the perspective and vision they lacked.

When they drew in the fish, we are provided an exact count: 153 in total. Jerome, an early interpreter of this story, perhaps mistakenly suggested that the number of species of fish known in the time of Jesus was—you guessed it—one hundred and fifty-three. Despite the possible error, I like the implication that this is an inclusive net and this is a most diverse school of fish.  And the net—the church?—didn’t break.

As progressive Christians sometimes embarrassed by our aggressively evangelical siblings, we might ask ourselves, “How good are we at fishing for people?” How flexible is our net? We pride ourselves at the diversity of people we “officially” welcome. But how many people are we actually “catching”?  Are we throwing our net on the correct side of the boat? Is our net strong enough to bring 153 varieties of people to the shore to encounter Jesus on their own? Can our net—of worship, of community, of service—stretch itself enough to include others? Can we summon the same audacity to “fish for people” that we do when collecting signatures on a petition, proclaiming justice from the pulpit, and protesting prejudice and violence?

I served with the late Louisville seminary professor George Edwards on a national church task force toward the end of the 70’s. He was adamant on calling himself “a liberal evangelical,” declaring passionately that he would not surrender the term “evangelical” to conservative Christians.

We too are “evangelicals,” bringing the good news of progressive Christianity to those who think they’re not following Jesus because they don’t profess the certainties of earlier generations or of present-day fundamentalists. Regardless of doubts, or rather, because of our doubts, our gospel may be more accessible.

As Tennyson wrote in his elegiac poem to his late friend, Arthur Hallam, In Memoriam A. H. H.:

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be;

They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

…

There lives more faith in honest doubt,

Believe me, than in half the creeds.

Coming up:

Wilmington, Delaware, Oct. 9: Chris will preach on the parable of “The Wedding Banquet” during the 10 am worship at Hanover Street Presbyterian Church, 1801 North Jefferson Street 19802 and offer “A Brief History of Marriage” for the noon adult class that follows. The day’s theme is same-gender marriage.

Rockville, Maryland, Oct. 23: Chris will speak at the Rockville United Church, 355 Linthicum St. 20851 at the 9:30 am morning class on “Claim the God in You as a Progressive Christian” and his sermon title during the 10:45 worship will be “Jesus Was Not a Literalist.” Lunch follows with a question-and-answer period with Chris.

The Soul Feels Its Worth

“And the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope / The weary world rejoices…” 

It may seem strange, this first day in Lent, to quote this line from the Christmas carol “O Holy Night.” But this season, despite its emphasis on humility, is an opportunity for our souls to feel their sacred worth.

There is something almost mystical about the weaving of words with music. Hildegard of Bingen wrote that “Singing summons the Holy Spirit.” It can uplift the soul in a way naked words cannot. As much as we need to change the bad theology of old hymns, there are times when old phrases that resonate positively may be used as a kind of mantra, a form of lectio divina in which the phrase repeated over and over may descend, as the fourth century contemplatives described it, from the mind to the heart. For me, such is the phrase “and the soul felt its worth.”

What illustration could I use to get across the meaning of “the soul felt its worth”? Seeing love in the eyes of someone you love. Receiving praise from a person or group you respect. Being part of a good and just cause.

Yet what too often comes to mind are the many ways in which the soul does not feel its worth in today’s world: the maiming and killing of terrorism and war, the oppression of injustice and religious shaming, the hatred of prejudice, the violence of assault or bullying, the violation of theft, unfaithfulness or abuse or exploitation in a relationship, whether in the home, the workplace, the marketplace, politics, or religion. These are obvious examples when the soul doubts its worth.

But there are less obvious examples: when we are unemployed or underemployed, when we can’t afford food or healthcare, when we don’t have shelter or education, when slighted by society or religion. And less vital but no less devastating examples: a cutting remark by a family member, an impatient look from a sales clerk, the failure of a loved one to phone. All of these occasion times when the soul does not feel its worth.

A publisher once asked me to write a book entitled, “Why I Am a Christian.” I replied that all of my books attempt to answer that question. But what he meant was, despite everything, why I still valued my Christian identity. Now I realize it is because as I draw close to Jesus, to God, to all that I hold sacred, my soul feels its worth.  “We are God’s work of art,” the apostle Paul assured the Ephesians (Ephesians 2:10; NJB).

“O Holy Night” is not just a sentimental song that describes Jesus “born to be our friend” who “taught us to love one another,” whose “law is love” and whose “gospel is peace.” More than such sweet generalities the song proclaims:

      Chains shall he break / For the slave is our brother;

      And in his name / All oppression shall cease.  

The reason I follow Jesus is that I believe he somehow “got it right” about what true spirituality is, recognizing and reminding every soul of its sacred worth. I want to be like him when I spiritually grow up.