The Mad Parson

I don’t have a tattoo. I’m not planning on getting one, but I do toy with the thought from time to time. I always fall on the side of not getting one because the only time I want to pay someone $75 to poke me with a needle so I can walk away feeling better is when my physician gives me the annual flu shot. And I don’t really want to even then. Besides, what am I going to get tattooed on me that will still look halfway decent when I’m eighty and sagging all over?

That being said, I’m fascinated by tattoos. Fascinated by the artwork of it, fascinated by what drives people to get them, fascinated by the culture that surrounds them. I grew up on ’70s classic rock and ’80s heavy metal, so I feel like I have one foot in that society, anyhow. I got hooked early on to TLC’s Miami Ink, and when Kat Von D left and went back to L.A., I consequently got addicted to L.A. Ink.

In truth, I think it’s more than just fascination with subculture to which I don’t belong but easily could. I think I’m drawn to the process and meaning of it: Beyond all the drama between the artists, the show is driven by a client coming in and getting a tattoo. And the draw is that the client always has a story to tell behind the tattoo; there’s always a dead loved one or a conquered addiction or a significant life event or an accomplishment. There’s something the client wants to capture in permanent form on their person.

So the tattoo artist listens while tattooing and usually gives some sort of vague response that would have been wholly acceptable in my counseling classes: “Wow, that must have been tough for you.” “Wow, sober for a year. Congratulations.” “I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together.” And then the client leaves, followed by a little interview with the client in which the client shows off the new tattoo and talks about how relieved/excited/at peace she or he feels.It’s a confession, really. The client comes in and tells her or his story, and gives some sort of form to that story. And then the tattoo artists pronounces some form of absolution, and the client leaves feeling somehow revived. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that on some level, it’s akin to a religious ritual, where someone comes in to tell their story and be relieved of their pain, another someone does something prescribed to facilitate that, and then the facilitator pronounces absolution to the seeker and all is well.

That’s powerful. And it’s what should happen in church, amongst other things. But does it? There’s a level of expectation in these tattoo shows when someone comes in–the tattoo artist wants to hear the story, wants to participate, wants to be a part of that process. Is that what happens in churches when a visitor walks in? Sure, everyone is friendly to the visitor, but I suspect it’s because they want something from the visitor–mainly membership. And here’s why I suspect that: When a visitor comes in, it is in the inclination of a church to say, not “Tell us why you’re here”, but “Let me tell you about our church”. The difference is profound. In addition, there is often an implicit, if not explicit, expectation concerning appearance and behavior. The net result is not that the visitor feels a meaningful level of hospitality–and potential absolution!–but instead a pressure to conform and participate in the congregation’s priorities. In a tattoo parlor, the client is the priority; in the church, the organization is the priority.

I suspect more and more people are visiting churches these days, not because they are churched and simply looking for where they fit in–although that does happen–but because they have some sort of existential need that drives them to a church because they think that need might be filled there. I would agree with them. I believe that existential need is met best in a worshipping community. But they think they will get and what they actually receive are two different things, and that’s why so many never return after an initial visit. What would happen if church members greeted visitors in a similar manner to how tattoo artists greet their clients–with a real desire to hear their story, share their pain, and be a part of the absolution?

I bet you’d have a hard time finding space in the church to fit all those people. And a lot of them would be from the tattoo parlors. . . .

And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. It has the glory of God and a radiance like a very rare jewel, like jasper, clear as crystal. It has a great, high wall with twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, and on the gates are inscribed the names of the twelve tribes of the Israelites; on the east three gates, on the north three gates, on the south three gates, and on the west three gates. And the wall of the city has twelve foundations, and on them are the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.

The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the city and its gates and walls. The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width; and he measured the city with his rod, fifteen hundred miles; its length and width and height are equal. He also measured its wall, one hundred and forty-four cubits by human measurement, which the angel was using. The wall is built of jasper, while the city is pure gold, clear as glass. The foundations of the wall of the city are adorned with every jewel; the first was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth cornelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, the twelfth amethyst. And the twelve gates are twelve pearls, each of the gates is a single pearl, and the street of the city is pure gold, transparent as glass.

I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honour of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practises abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s book of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign for ever and ever. –Revelation 21: 10–22:5

Understanding that we are always in the presence of God can be a challenge. You’d think it would be a snap for a Professional Churchy Dude like yours truly, but for those of us who are full time clergy, it’s easy to think of faith as a to-do list: Visitation, check. Sermon outline, check. Worship bulletin, check. Blog post, nearly.

It’s equally daunting for those of us not in vocational ministry. No sooner have we stepped out of the sanctuary–that’s the nave, for all you Episcopalians out there–than our own to-do lists set in: Get the kids to soccer, finish that sales presentation, fill that Coumadin prescription, meet the plumber, make the staff meeting on time, email the report, go to the teacher conference, and so on. It’s no wonder that the Harvard Business School finds that religious intensity spikes on Sunday, but is pretty average the rest of the week.

That’s where John and his holy acid trip come in. Revelation is an exotic book full of monsters, numbers, angels, symbols, war, and much more. It’s a real Tim Burton movie waiting to happen. (Hey, we could cast St. John Depp! Gawww!) But once we get past all the bizarre hallucination stuff, the messages therein are really pretty simple. And one of those messages is absolutely crucial for getting through the week.

“I saw no Temple in the city, for the Temple is the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb.” We get caught up in thinking that the building in which we worship is the Church. We even say we are ‘going to church’ or raising capital to ‘improve the church’ or having a spaghetti dinner ‘at the church’.

The building ain’t the Church. The people worshipping are the Church. Yes, there is something special about the worship gathering on Sunday. It is where we hear the Word preached and we receive the Sacraments and we commune together in a way that we cannot during the week. But for that hour (or hour and a half if you’re a non-denom, or three hours if you’re Pentecostal, or. . . .), we are simply the Church gathered.

Then we become the Church dispersed. We get shoved out into the thrust and parry of the workaday world, continuing our worship as sales execs, stay-at-home spouses, ministers, doctors, retirees, bookkeepers, retail clerks, students, and even Crimson Tide fans. What we do in this week is ripe for worship, perfect for offering up to a holy and gracious God, perfect for using to help out someone else, perfect for commending the faith that has been given us.

The singer/songwriter Bob Franke has a marvelous, marvelous song called “Thanksgiving Day” in which he sings, “What can you do with each day, but work, dream, and hope? Let your dreams bind your work to your play. What can you do with each moment of your life? But love till you’ve loved it away? Love till you’ve loved it away. . . .” Being in the presence of God beyond the walls of a building and beyond the hour or corporate worship means letting the Gospel bind our work to our faith. There is no Temple. Everywhere is a sanctuary. Every hour is worship. You are in the presence of God right now. You are praising him right now.

Some people are obsessed with impressing a pretty girl. Some spend their lives trying to please God. Others are jumping through myriad hoops to keep the tax man happy. Me? I’m just trying to get recognized by the Instapundit.

Now, if I can just get an Instalanche. . . .

I don’t know anything about Elena Kagan. I don’t anything about the judiciary. I know precious little about the court confirmation process. So, as far as I can tell, I’m about as qualified as any of the other pundits weighing in. So here goes. . . .

I think conservatives oppose the Kagan nomination at their own peril. Some think that President Obama nominated Solicitor Kagan because he’s weak and doesn’t have the political currency to proffer someone left enough for his tastes. I’m not sure about that. Perhaps that’s the case, but my read on this president is that he’s sufficiently ideological to ignore such questions of political capital.It really doesn’t matter. Whether made from a weak position or no, the Kagan nomination is a masterstroke, irregardless. (Well, of course, ‘irregardless’ is horrid writing, but I’m from South Carolina, dear reader. In South Carolina, we’re taught early on to shag to beach music, elect sleazy governors, and use ‘irregardless’ in sentences.)

The solicitor’s lack of a real paper trail is a boon to her nomination. While it makes both conservatives and liberals a bit queasy, since most folks like a sure thing, it shifts the confirmation process in the confirmand’s favor, as there is no real albatross to hang around her neck. Yes, there’s the military recruiters on college campuses bit, but DADT is a fundamentally flawed policy, so I doubt there’s much traction there. Point for Obama.

She appears to work well with conservatives. Critics will wax cynical about this, but Obama-the-candidate promised postpartisanship, and if he’s delivered nowhere else, he can say he tried here. If Republicans attack too hard, they will be seen as being the virulent hyperpartisans on the cusp of the election. Point for Obama.

The solicitor is a minority. Yes, of course, I do mean the gender angle. But she’s also sensitive to race minority issues having worked for Thurgood Marshall. And there’s the hushed rumormongering about lesbianism. The under-the-breath whispers on sexuality actually work in favor of confirmation. If any Republicans broach the subject, they’ll look like Fred Phelps-homophobes. So that discussion is off the table and any discussions on the constitutionality of gay marriage have to be conducted carefully. Point to Obama.

And she’s not a judge. That may be a setback to some–even some liberals–but really, do we want a Court populated with nothing but judges? Isn’t there, at some point, a fear of judicial inbreeding? A law professor here, a litigator there, the occasional contract attorney can’t be a bad thing, all things considered. If you want to talk about diversity, this is one way to do so. Point to Obama.

Of course, that cuts both ways. Should the solicitor be confirmed, we will become slightly more homogenous, with six Roman Catholics and three Jews. We are still fairly far away from a Muslim justice, unless I miss my guess, and even farther away from a good agnostic. But it would be nice to have a decent Orthodox justice, or at least a token Protestant, now that we’ve lost one. This is hardly an appropriate threshold to meet for confirmation, however, so the point still goes to Obama.

Result? The Republicans will be fools to try to stop this, and yet at least a few of them will need to pander to their constituencies and appear as though they are in strong opposition. Look for them to press the confirmand on the Commerce Clause, executive power, and perhaps immigration law. Anything else will play right into Obama’s hands.

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, “I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ But I replied, ‘By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ But a second time the voice answered from heaven, ‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’ And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.” –Acts 11: 1-18

God’s Word to us Sunday was on the types of grand change and sweeping transition that most of us fear and dread. When Peter is told to eat unkosher food by God, it was a turn of events of absolute catastrophic proportions. The dietary laws in Judaism were the foundation and fabric of their community, and it was being thrown out for something new.

Scandalous. Which is why it took God telling Peter multiple times. This type of change occurs in churches that are trying to reach out to unchurched people. When unchurched people show up, there’s always growing pains and two distinct groups of people become one distinct group of people.

But such tumult isn’t limited to churches. All of us have endured some sort of change that we have found tsunamic. While our own little earthquake may not shake others, it has rocked us to the bone. The death of a loved one. A child who wanders off the path. A bad diagnosis from the doctor. A pink slip. Divorce papers. Thanksgiving with family members who are perfect–and insist on reminding us we’re not. The list goes on.

While such events are not induced by God in the way that Peter’s hallucination was, they are life-altering changes, nonetheless. And that’s why I find this passage so horrifying and so peace-giving at the same time. Horrifying, because such changes happen, and sometimes they are instigated by the only Man to ever cow Johnny Cash. Peace-giving, because God’s faithfulness never waivers. The whole change/transition thing isn’t the end of the Church; it’s really the beginning. The passage ends with baptism, repentance, and life–the stuff of eternity, the ingredients of heaven. So perhaps the moral of the story is that when we’re going through the tsunamis–whether on a grand scale as a community, or as a microcosm in our own lives–we can take comfort that God’s will is relentless, and his love for us is unbreakable.