Dacă arborele neroditor ar reprezenta Biserica, ce-ar semnifica atunci gunoiul de la rădăcină?
Carl Trueman, pe care l-am cunoscut personal, un foarte rafinat scriitor, excelent teolog, cu un simţ al umorului bine ţinut în frîu, scrie un articol excelent despre felul în care biserica îţi pune gunoiul în gît nu la rădăcină, că în Cap nu şi-l poate pune că Acela este Cristosul.
Carl este dur, dar pe bună dreptate.
Aşa-s de sătul de chestiile astea cu relevanţa care ne transformă în nişte comunităţi de rîsu-plînsu.
Ia să citim un pic:
That’s when it all started to go wrong. I do not know if you have ever tried to `inclusivise,’ `unmarginalise’ or `deoppresionise’ on the fly, so to speak, but it is not that easy, as the gentlemen was about to demonstrate in spades. Indeed, by half way through the passage his attempts had made such an aesthetic and grammatical mess of the passage that he abandoned his laudable, liberating ambitions and returned to oppressing the women present in a really quite unacceptable fashion.
Bad as it was, that was the high point of the service. It was all downhill from then on. Next, instead of a pulpit prayer, we all had to sit and listen to a tape recording of waves crashing on a beach. This was followed by the second scripture reading. Thankfully, this one was not from the oppressive Bible translation used by the previous reader. In fact, it was not from the Bible at all but taken from a collection of poems written by African American slaves. Now, the poem was moving and thoughtfully constructed, a piece of literature; and knowing its original context gave it a certain emotional power; but it was not scripture in any shape or form and had no obvious place within a church service.
Fraţilor, surorilor, pe cînd şi pe la noi lecturi din Biblii inclusiviste pe fundal de picuri de ploaie pe habitaclu de maşină?
MArginalizare, opresiune? Sigur, ca mascul heterosexual ma pot simţi opresat şi marginalizat şi eu, nu? Dacă tot ne apucăm să facem pe placul tuturor, faceţi-mi şi mie placul, să citim Romani 1 şi să cîntăm o chestie pe care Kenny G n-o poate cînta.
Onward we went, and ever downward. Now came the sermon, which was a five minute homily on the end of slavery, full of platitudes about imperialism and oppression, all of which may have been true, and to much of which I was not actually unsympathetic, but God was conspicuous only by his absence, presumably having nothing to say about the subject in hand. And then finally, the pièce de resistance, the moment to which the whole service had been leading, the climactic moment when the congregation was taken to the very gates of heaven: the service ended, not with a benediction or even a prayer, but with another chance to meditate, this time not to waves crashing on a beach but to a recording of Kenny G playing `Amazing Grace.’ Words almost fail me in the narrative at this point. After all, not being a Kenny G fan, I found myself oppressed, marginalized, and excluded all at once. The best I can say is that it was probably a better option than Barry Manilow singing `Copa Cabana.’
Vorba soacrei mele, Dumnezeu o odihneşte în pace acum!: Mamă, mamă, unde-i multă minte este şi prostie multă! A spus asta după ce m-a cunoscut. Eu am luat partea cea bună! Iată cum, cu doctorate gîrlă, poţi pierde simţul cel bun al închinării simple şi drepte. Nişte moftangii, teologoi de turn de fildeş, fără simţ şi dreaptă cumpănă:
Now, despite the embarrassment of scholarly riches at this service, I sat their thinking, I could not bring a non-Christian friend into this. It would be embarrassing for reasons that have nothing to do with the excess of cumulative scholarship represented; rather, for all of the doctorates in the congregation, this service would simply insult the intelligence of the typical non-Christian who, in my experience, assumes a certain correlation between the seriousness of content and the seriousness of form. Further – and ironically – I also found it hard to believe that any of us there really felt included by this liturgical mishmash: a slag heap of subtheological fragments pulled from hither and yon into an incoherent and vacuous fiasco does not end up including everyone in general; more likely it ends up including nobody in particular. But that’s liberal ecumenism for you: sophisticated on paper and in the classroom; moronic and exclusionary in practice. To coin a phrase: „Hey, it’s rubbish. So let’s just call it rubbish, shall we?”
Vă garantez plăcerea lecturii pînă la capăt!
Dar cea mai tare chestiune este despre seriozitatea Evangheliei:
A church service involving clowns or fancy dress or skits or stand-up comedy does not reflect the seriousness of the gospel; and those who take the gospel seriously should know better. Frankly, it is more appropriate to liberal theology which does not take the gospel, or the God of the gospel, seriously. Serious things demand serious idioms. I heard recently of a church service involving dressing up in costume and music taken from a Tom Cruise movie. Now, if I go for my annual prostate examination, and the doctor comes into the consulting room dressed as Coco the Clown, with `Take my breath away’ from Top Gun playing in the background, guess what? I’m going to take the doctor out with a left hook, flee the surgery, and probably file a complaint with the appropriate professional body. This is serious business; and if he looks like a twit and acts like a twit, then I can only conclude that he is a twit.
Să-i spunem pe nume, fraţilor, e gunoi şi gunoi va rămîne, numai nu-i lăsaţi să ni-l pună în cap.