Month: January 2017

The civic religion of Donald Trump

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Today’s gospel reading, Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes might well provide us with an example of a religious text evolving for use in a particular context. Differing significantly from Luke’s version, Matthew may well have crafted the text from a shared source to address his audience and fit into his narrative.

Whatever the truth of the text’s pre-history, its interpretation – like that of any biblical text – is a matter of ongoing reception, conditioned by context. (The Catholic claim is, of course, that this process is guided by the Spirit and at moments manifest authoritatively in the teaching of the Church). A startling case was provided by the use of the text at Donald Trump’s inauguration last week.

It is fair to say that the early days of the Trump presidency have not seemed like the embodiment of the spirit of the Beatitudes. Turning away refugees, advocating torture, barring citizens of Muslim-majority countries from entering the US – if one wanted to point to actions that show how the merciful are blessed this is not where one would look. Yet the incongruity has passed largely without comment. Such is civic religion in the United States that, for all the effusive piety of much of that country’s politics, saccharine-tinged hypocrisy dealt with a leather-bound bible and a broad smile is accepted as the norm from political leaders.

This state of affairs, where God and his word have become rhetorical playthings, ever present in the discourse of public life but used to shore up the power of politicians is, amongst other things, the sign of a Christianity that is too familiar with God. If God is my buddy, if I can invoke him before a business meeting or a football game as though he were some holy performance supplement, if cartoons of Jesus in such situations appeal non-ironically, then I am in the grip of idolatry. I will be all too familiar with the divine, all too sure that I know what God wants (this tending to coincide with what I want). The awe and splendour of the burning bash and Sinai retreats, we are left with just another campaign tool.

 

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America could do a lot worse than a spot of atheism in its civic life. The god of inaugurations is one of those gods from whom we have been set free by the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who demands that we have no god by him. Indeed, Mennonite theologian Stanley Hauerwas has suggested that the real name of the god of Trumpism is ‘America’. There is a word of caution to be spoken here for those in Europe who mourn the absence of religious talk from most of our politics. Speaking of God is not the same thing as speaking faithfully of God. We are not to take the Lord’s Name in vain.

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Mary, the Mother of God

I remember as a child hearing an evangelical Anglican remark during my that calling Mary ‘Mother of God’ was terrible. There were people during the early fifth century who thought similarly. One of them may or may not have been Nestorius, the Archbishop of Constantinople.

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Whatever Nestorius himself believed, the name `Nestorianism‘ came to be used for the view that so stressed the separateness of Christ’s humanity and hid divinity as to lose sight of their unity. This belief manifested itself in a refusal to use the title ‘Mother of God’ of our Lady, ‘Mother of Christ’ being one proposed compromise. In opposing this view the Council of Ephesus┬áin 431 declared Mary to be the Mother of God. Christ, although both human and divine, is one person. That person is God the Son, and so Mary is appropriately called Mother of God. She is not, for sure, Mother of God as God. Rather she is Mother of God as man. To deny this is, in effect, to deny the Incarnation. This man is God. That baby was God.

This title for Mary points to an important truth about Jesus. Those, like no doubt that Anglican minister from my youth, who think that in talking about Mary we detract from Jesus are exactly wrong. In fact, it is both interesting and important that in order to talk about Christ, the Church talked about Mary. God became a human being, a member of an animal species, and a member of a family and numerous communities. He was not some kind of divine Robinson Crusoe; he was and is a social being. And so in talking about him we naturally talk about those whose lives he touched and those who influenced him – supremely Mary, from whom he took his very humanity. It is the same with all of us. Pick up any biography, and the chances are that the early chapters will dwell on its subject’s family.

Today’s feast reminds us of the communal nature of humanity, and in a sense of the Church, present in microcosm in Christ’s family. The saving events of Jesus’ life involved people other than Jesus, as do each of our participations in those events.