by Brian Walsh

It always comes back to creation and exodus.

Figure out Genesis and Exodus and you’ve got the most foundational outline of the biblical story.

And when the biblical imagination takes a redemptive turn,
…when a prophet moves from judgment to hope,
…and the biblical narrative transitions from the ruins to rebuilding,
…there are two themes that will pretty much always be found:
……creation and liberation.

We’ve heard so much bad news from Isaiah,
…so much condemnation on the Holy City of Jerusalem,
…that I didn’t have the heart to read Isaiah 3 to the community this morning.

The poet’s depiction of the collapse of all societal and civilizational structures and supports,
…his portrayal of a community devoid of any leadership,
…his condemnation – yet again – of the oppression of the poor,
…his denunciation of opulent luxury,
…and his provocative picture of the smell of perfume being overpowered by the stench of death,
……the sashes that the fine ladies wore around their wastes become ropes for their necks,
……their beautiful hair gives way to baldness,
……their rich robes become sackcloth,
……and instead of beauty they are adorned with shame,
all of this just seemed like too much.

And then, when the passage ends with there being so many dead amongst the men that the women clamour around the remaining few men begging to be known by their name, begging to be taken into their families, so they won’t be left destitute and alone, well, it’s all so degrading and embarrassing.

And almost as if he knows that this can’t go on any longer,
…as if he knows that his hearers can’t handle this any more,
the prophet leaves poetry behind and writes some hope-filled prose.
But it is no less rich and nuanced for being prose rather than poetry.

And it all comes back to Genesis and Exodus, creation and liberation.

In his vision of restoration, the prophet remembers the beauty and fruitfulness of the land that we first meet in the creation narratives.

Indeed, he uses the word “create” for what God is about to do,
…God will create something new in the ruins of the devastated city.
And this act of new creation will deal with the filth, the death, the shame of the past.
…The bloodstains – both evoking the ritual uncleanliness of menstrual blood and the literal reality of the blood of war that has stained the streets of the city – will all be cleaned.
…And it is the Lord God himself, the Holy One of Israel, who will get down on his hands and knees and scrub those streets clean.
…This is new creation, but new creation always comes at a cost,
……a cost to the Holy One,
……a cost paid, in the end, by God.

And then, the prophet weds together the language of creation with the language of exodus.

…“Then the Lord will create over the whole site of Mount Zion and over its places of assembly a cloud by day and smoke and the shining of a flaming fire by night.”

…That’s got to ring some bells.
…A cloud by day and a fire by night.
…These are, of course, strong exodus images.

If there is to be hope for the city,
…if there is to be rebuilding in the ruins,
…if there is to be an urban renewal that will go deep enough to deal with the urban rot and corruption,
…then there must be a new exodus.

There is no new creation without a new exodus.
There is no city of God without liberation from the empire
…that has held the city captive.
This vision of a new city, this theology of urban ministry,
this hope for beauty to arise out of the ashes,
is not a vision of arrival, but of departure.

The prophet here tells us that there is a new exodus on offer,
…a new path of liberation,
…a new journey that is tenuous, long and dangerous,
…but that is led by nothing less than the cloud by day and the fire by night.

If the picture of judgment is one of the defied and insulted glory of God
…abandoning his people and giving them over to judgment,
then the hope of this new exodus is that the glory returns,
…God’s presence accompanies them on this journey,
…sojourns with them, and takes up residence again in the restored city.

And over the glory, the prophet pictures a canopy.
…A sacred canopy of protection, a place of refuge,
…a shelter from the storm and the rain,
…that replaces the fallen and fraudulently constructed canopy of Israel.

Shelter from the storm,
a sacred canopy of protection,
a place of refuge.

The picture that the prophet paints is very interesting.
…You’ve got this glory, this sense of presence,
……this sense of cultural and religious weight to things,
…and over the glory there is a canopy, a pavilion,
……a shelter from the storm.

Now it seems to me that this sense of glory and canopy is pretty common to the way in which humans shape culture and conceive of their civilizations and cities.

Cities bear their own glory, their own sense of identity,
…their own gravity, their own weight of meaning,
…value and esteem.
Their glory can be found in their accomplishments,
…often celebrated in monuments and events,
but that glory can also be a matter of reputation and fame,
…and it is most often manifest in the built environment of the city,
its towers and neighbourhoods, parks and public buildings.

And over all of this glory, human life lives under a sacred canopy that provides ultimate legitimation and protection for that glory.

Now think about it for a moment.
…The canopy legitimates the glory,
…the canopy protects and justifies the glory.

So if you think of something like fascist architecture,
…together with the well-ordered civic structure of fascist societies,
then the sacred canopy over that fascist glory will be a mythology, a narrative,
…that provides sacred legitimation for this fascist state
and also for the fascist leader.

Or think of the glory of Washington, D.C
…While there a sense of a borrowed glory from ancient Rome in the classic architecture and urban planning of Washington, D.C., there is a glory nonetheless.
…A glory manifest in the monuments, the museums, the Capital building and the White House. The glory of America is palpable when you go to Washington.
…And, of course, that glory all exists under the sacred canopy of American exceptionalism, Manifest Destiny and a particular telling of a narrative of exodus from bondage to freedom.

The glory of the city and the sacred canopy of the city will always be mutually supportive.

So here’s the question.
…If the sacred canopy over the city of God is the biblical narrative of creation and exodus,
…if this is a canopy erected by the covenant keeping God who will personally clean the blood from our streets,
…indeed, if this is a canopy that in Jesus Christ is erected in the shadow of the cross where his own blood was shed,
…then what would be the glory of such a city?
…What would the presence of God look like in that city?
…What would the social structures look like?
…What would refuge look like, and who would be given such refuge?

…If there is no going back to the city of judgment,
……with its oppression of the poor,
……it’s ostentatious opulence,
……it’s never ending consumption,
……it’s social, racial and ethnic discrimination,
……it’s built structure of human arrogance,
……and it’s fraudulently constructed canopy of human autonomy,
…then what does this city of God look like?

I don’t know about you, friends,
but my life is pretty much all about looking for that place of refuge,
that shelter from the storm.

I’m right there, looking for this better city, this habitation of God,
…this exodus journey home.
I’m right there, shivering in the cold, slipping under this canopy,
…finding my way into the pavilion, getting warm in the glory.
That’s part of what Wine Before Breakfast is all about.
…A time to come in from the cold,
…a place of refuge,
…a shelter from the storm.

And the canopy over it all is the story of this blood-cleaning God:
……Christ has died,
……Christ has risen,
……Christ will come again.

Under that canopy, and having tasted that glory,
…I long for a city – this city! – to be a place of refuge for the refugee,
…….a place of shelter for those who are most vulnerable,
…….a place that finds its glory
…in the quality of life that is shared by its inhabitants,
…the depth of justice of its social and economic structures,
…and the rich neighourliness of its common life.

So come under the canopy, friends,
let’s build the city of God.
Amen.

A meditation on Isaiah 2.5-22

Culture is not optional.

I’m pretty sure that my former colleague, Calvin Seerveld, coined that phrase.

Culture is not optional because there is no such thing as human life together that is not at heart a culture-forming enterprise. Human language, family structures, gender relations, economies, agriculture and creative expression is all culturally founded and culturally formative.

And for ancient Israel, culture making is at the very foundation of human identity. We are mandated to be fruitful, to multiply and to “fill” the earth.

That’s what culture is all about. It is a filling exercise. Not that the earth is empty, but that the human creature has the unique call to fill creation with cultural artifacts, traditions, institutions and relationships that serve to open up creational potentials. My friend Bob Goudzwaard calls this a process of disclosure.

And cities, are a societal, spatial, economic, political and aesthetic concentration of such cultural filling. Cities fill their geographical space with people, with transportation systems, with the arts, with buying and selling, with political structures, with homes and neighbourhoods, celebrations and community.

And so, it seems to me, that just as culture is not optional, so also is urban life not optional. For good or ill, the culture forming creature is invariably also a city-building creature.

Culture is not optional and cities are not optional.

Culture may not be optional, but neither is it determined. There are various ways in which we engage in culture-forming, various ways in which we can build cities. Indeed, there are various ways to engage in cultural and urban ‘filling.’

For example, if you fill your cities with fossil fuel burning automobiles, paving vast tracks of the land and prioritizing the automobile over public transit, bicycles, and pedestrian traffic, then you will create a noisy and smelly city with poor air quality that will be decidedly inhospitable to human species on foot and other species on wing. And this automotive filling of your city will have devastating implications for neighbourhood life (if you don’t walk, you don’t meet your neighbours), health and safety (just look at the statistics on injury and death, not to mention respiratory disease because of the car) and the city budget (the infrastructure for the automobile is decidedly more expensive than that of other modes of transportation).

Not all urban ‘filling’ is created equal. Indeed, much urban filling is decidedly deformative, closing down a rich urban life of diverse communities in a city that is socially, economically, ecological and culturally fruitful and sustainable.

And that is precisely what Isaiah is on about in our this text that hardly ever gets any attention.

The prophet perceives a city that is full.

There are the intellectual elite from various cultures, serving as advisors to the ruling authorities. The city is full of these consultants, all paid a handsome wage.

That they are earning their keep is evidenced by the economic wealth of this city. It is full of silver and gold, there is no end to their treasures. Isn’t that what cities are all about? Civic machines that generate wealth for the economic elite?

And once you’ve got that kind of wealth around, well then, of course you will need a strong police and military establishment in order to protect those treasures and those who hold that wealth.

But this prophet sees more.

This prophet sees past the shining towers of the financial district and the proliferation of condos for the wealthy while homelessness continues to plague thousands in his city.

He sees past the well-spoken educated classes with their fine economic analysis and cultural tastes, while the poor continue to struggle with literacy.

He sees past the rhetoric of tax reductions for the owners of cars and the smoke of budget cuts to libraries, homeless shelters and other social services.

He sees past the security establishment that keeps the G20 protestors in their place.

He sees past the ideology of the ruling classes with their endless treasures and security apparatus.

He sees past all of this and sees a city full not only of soothsayers, gold, horses and chariots – this is a city full of idols.

Humans are created in the image of God and called to fill the earth. If, in sin, we choose not to image God, we will still fill the earth.

Remember, culture is not optional.

But we will fill the earth, construct our culture, and fill our cities in the image of idols.

If we do not image God, then we will necessarily and inevitably bow the knee, subject our lives and construct our cities in service of graven images.

Call this “Biblical Anthropology 101.”

So far, this prophet is just a man with clear vision.

Anyone with eyes could see that this city had bowed the knee to idols in its urban planning, its priorities, its understanding of what makes for a ‘world class city.’

Anyone could see that lying behind that self-interested ideology, civic self-aggrandizement, and urban planning for myopic economic growth was idolatry.

But this prophet sees even more.

In the face of this world class city of education, wealth and security, in the face of this city full of idols, the prophet conjures up an impossible scenario.

It all comes crumbling down.
In a series of prophetic reversals the haughty eye is brought low,
…the proud and arrogant are humbled.

“It’s time for the horizons of the universe to be glimpsed even by the faceless kings of corporations” – and in that glimpse, it all comes crashing down.

“It’s time for chaos to win and walk off with the prize which turns out to be nothing.”

The civilizational order of this city, built as it is on idolatry, will collapse and chaos will reign.

Why? Why can’t such an urban experiment succeed?

Why?

Because God aligns himself against this city in all of its splendour,
…against this culture in all of its beauty,
…against this economy in all of its wealth,
…against this built environment in all of its arrogance.

Ten times, the prophet repeats that word – against, against, against.

And beyond the range of normal sight in this city of idolatry, the prophet sees that “the idols shall utterly pass away.”

These idols that exude such power, such permanence, such authority, will utterly pass away.

They will be so useless that when the collapse comes, when the arrogant and powerful are looking for a hole to crawl into, they’ll have to throw away their idols to the moles and the bats.

Empty handed, they will leave these unclean symbols of cultural filling for the pleasure of unclean animals. That’s all that they will be good for.

So culture is not optional.
And cities are not optional either.
But that means that we must struggle to maintain real options for our cultural and urban lives.
…Real options for a sustainable city.
…Real options for the shaping of communities of neighbourliness.
…Real options for a city full of creativity and imagination.
…Real options for a city of justice for the most marginalized.
…Real options for democratic freedom of expression.
…Real options for homemaking in secure housing.
…Real options for those excluded from power and opportunity.
…Real options for kids to play, to learn, to grow.

Culture is not optional, but idolatry will always close down our real options.

And so the prophet offers an alternative:

O house of Jacob,
come, let us walk
in the light of the Lord. (Is. 2.5).

Culture is not optional and urban life is not optional.

Let us be a people who seek the shalom of the city,
who seek a city of peace,
and who will build the city of God, in the light of the Lord,
in the light of his Word.

Republished with permission from www.huffingtonpost.com

Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it’s pointing toward

These lines, from Bruce Cockburn’s hauntingly beautiful song “Pacing the Cage,” have been my constant companions as I have been reflecting on the year that was and the year that is to come. As the sun sets on another year of violence on the battlefields of war and urban conflict, another year of ecological despoliation coupled with economic greed, another year of political duplicity and media distraction, you can see the blood everywhere.

Maybe you can see an angel weeping, holding out a bloody sword. Weeping over the blood stained year that has passed. Weeping over that sword of judgment still gripped in his hand. There is blood on that sword, but it has not finished its violent judgment. There is more to come and no matter how the artist squints, he cannot discern where that sword is now pointing. Maybe he doesn’t want to know. But whatever the reason, Cockburn then sings,

Sometimes you feel like you’ve lived too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage

There is a world weariness to it all. One damn year of violence after another. When you’ve seen so much blood over the years, and you are either too confused or too numb to make any sense of it, well, “you catch yourself / pacing the cage.”

In an earlier song, reflecting on another sunset, this Canadian singer/songwriter described a world “ill at ease,” a “fraying rope getting closer to breaking” (“Hills of Morning”). And while folks kept on “moving back and forth / in between effect and cause” the artist had another vision. “Just beyond the range of normal sight” he saw “this glittering joker dancing in the dragon’s jaws.”

“Just beyond the range of normal sight.” That is what Walter Brueggemann calls “a prophetic imagination.” A vision that goes beyond what is seen to the naked eye. A vision that discerns the spirit of the times, the deep dynamics of history, and maybe even the movement of God.

Such prophetic vision is often found in the poetry of song and Bruce Cockburn’s art is suffused with a prophetic imagination. Cockburn’s art is prophetic in Brueggemann’s sense of the term because it nurtures, nourishes and evokes “a consciousness and perception alternative to the consciousness and perception of the dominant culture” (“The Prophetic Imagination,” p. 3). Whether naming the reality of trickle down economics as “trickle down blood” (“Trickle Down”), identifying the administration of George W. Bush as the village idiot who “takes the throne” (“All Our Dark Tomorrows”), deconstructing what they “call” democracy as “modern slavers in drag as champions of freedom” (“Call it Democracy”) or more evocatively naming our malaise as “hooked on avarice” (“Trickle Down”) because humans have this tragic disposition to “create what destroys / bind ourselves to betray” (“Beautiful Creatures”), Cockburn’s art has always seen “just beyond the range of normal sight.”

And with countless others, Cockburn’s songs have often given me a glimpse beyond the normal. A glimpse that sometimes breaks through my culturally imposed numbness, sometimes allows me to hear “rumours of glory” in the midst of the betrayal and ruins (“Rumours of Glory”), sometimes reminds me of the mystery that is at the heart of things.

With Cockburn I have sometimes been able to identify my deepest longings — personally, culturally, economically and ecologically — as “waiting for a miracle.”

Struggle for a dollar, scuffle for a dime
Step out from the past and try to hold the line
So how come history takes such a long, long time
When you’re waiting for a miracle

So how come history takes such a long, long time — when you are longing for personal wholeness, when you are looking for a world in which the 1 percent do not rule the 99 percent, when you are hoping for sanity to prevail over self-interested ideology in the affairs of state, when you are struggling to find meaningful work and dignity for your neighborhood youth, when you are praying that the church be released from her cultural captivity — when you are waiting for a miracle?

Perhaps it is out of such impatient longing and waiting, out of a crying out “how long, Lord? How long, must we wait for a miracle?” that I now look at that “angel weeping, holding out a bloody sword” and I can’t for the life of me make any sense of it all. No matter how I squint I can’t discern the meaning of this violence, and I sure as hell can’t see where the blood will flow next.

And yet Cockburn’s music will not leave us lost in such disorientation. He will not leave us with this “ache in the spirit / we label despair” (“Beautiful Creatures”). As an artist with a prophetic imagination, he will not avert his gaze from the brokenness, he will not cover up the disappointments, but he also will not leave us without hope. That’s what prophets do. They criticize and dismantle what is, in order to energize us with an alternative vision, an alternative hope of what can be. The spirits of the age meet the Spirit of the age to come.

In one song, Cockburn describes that Spirit of the age to come as a “Messenger Wind”:

Messenger wind swooping out of the sky
Lights each tiny speck in the human kaleidoscope
With hope

When the sun is setting on a year of violence in which bloodshed has followed bloodshed, what we most desperately need is hope. When you feel like you are living “in the falling dark,” what you desperately need is something that will lighten “each tiny speck in the human kaleidoscope / with hope.”

And so, in 2012, Bruce Cockburn will sing us songs of prophetic critique and prophetic hope. We should raise our glasses and sing with him,

And don’t tell me there is no mystery
Mystery
Mystery
And don’t tell me there is no mystery
It overflows my cup

This feast of beauty can intoxicate
Intoxicate
Intoxicate
This feast of beauty can intoxicate
Just like the finest wine

So all you stumblers who believe love rules
Believe love rules
Believe love rules
Come all you stumblers who believe love rules
Stand up and let it shine
Stand up and let it shine (“Mystery”)

Brian J. Walsh’s most recent book is ‘Kicking at the Darkness: Bruce Cockburn and the Christian Imagination’ (Brazos Press). He is a regular contributor to empireremixed.com.

I need a new Bible.

Some of you have seen my Bible at Wine Before Breakfast or in my office. And you know that the duct tape (that great Canadian solution to a world falling apart) isn’t doing it anymore.

My Bible is falling apart.

Want to read the first few chapters of Genesis? Forget it. Not possible.

How about Colossians? Well, that one’s so marked up from years of interpretation that its hard to read through the underlinings and marginalia.

But there is one passage that I can’t read in my Bible because, well, that page has just been so well-thumbed that I’ve actually thumbed a hole right through it. It looks like this:

He shall judge between the nations,
…and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall             eir swords into plowshares,
…and their sp      to pruning hooks;
nation shall not               sword against nation,
…neither shall th       rn war any more.

You can perhaps visualize where the rip in the page lies.

The text is, of course, Isaiah 2.4, and I think that we are all familiar with the metaphors that Isaiah is using here.

And I guess that I’ve either read this text many, many times in my Bible, or perhaps I have also read the text rather aggressively over the years.

When the word of the Lord comes out of Zion, when the nations come to Zion for instruction, the prophetic word is about the transformation of the implements of violence and war into the tools of cultivation and peace.

Swords become plowshares
and spears are now pruning hooks.

From cutting through the flesh of a human being, to turning the soil for planting.
From impaling an enemy on a spear, to pruning a fruit tree so that it will flourish.

From domicide to the making of home.
From ecocide to the fruitfulness of creation.

The problem is that the prophet says all of this in the future tense.

They shall beat their swords …
Not now, perhaps, but when the day of redemption comes.

And that is why this remains an Advent promise.
We so deeply and painfully long for such a transformation of our lives from enmity to peace.

Whether we are talking about
…the ecological crisis of “this bluegreen ball in black space
……battered and abused and lovely,”
…the geo-political violence of “stinking torture states,”
……or the family brokenness of “these hard-shelled husbands and wives,”
we long that the swords of our ecological, political and family wars
would be traded in for the tools that will cultivate shalom.
…Deep and healing shalom.

I need a new Bible.
And I need anew every day, this vision of shalom.
I need a new Bible.
But I also need the new world that my old Bible envisions.

Advent is for people who have an aching longing in their hearts.

Advent is not for people who have arrived,
…for people who have nothing to wait for because they’ve already got it all.
Advent is not for people who are satisfied,
…for people who find the status quo of their lives to be just fine.
Advent is not for the self-righteous,
…for those who do not blush in the face of their own shame.

No, Advent is for people who have an aching longing in their hearts.

Advent people wait because somehow they long for a better world,
…a world where justice and peace might kiss,
…a world in which broken relationships are healed,
…a world in which shame is swallowed up in forgiveness,
…a world where the first will be last and the last will be first.

Without this aching longing in our hearts,
…we miss Advent.
Without waiting,
…we miss Advent.
Without crying out “how long?”,
…we miss Advent.

Isaiah speaks of a time when we will be called,
…“the city of righteousness,
…the faithful city.”

Can you imagine such a thing?
Can you imagine an urban life suffused with righteousness?
Can you imagine a city that can be called “faithful?”

Perhaps not.

But maybe such language can awaken in us a longing for something
…that is beyond all that we can ask or imagine.

Maybe such language can invite us into Advent.

Joanna Manning is going to be ordained a priest. The author of Is the Pope Catholic: A Woman Confronts her Church and Take Back the Truth: Papal Power and the Religious Right is going to be a priest.

Obviously, not a Roman Catholic priest.

No, our dear sister was ordained to the ministry of the deaconate in the Anglican Church last May and will be ordained priest this Sunday. And when someone from the Wine Before Breakfast community receives the laying-on-of-hands from a bishop, it is our practice to get our hands in there first.

So that is what we are going to do at Wine Before Breakfast. We are going to send Joanna on her retreat and towards her ordination with our blessings and with our prayers.

Now it is an interesting thing that Joanna, of all people, is going to be a priest. It is going to be her responsibility to attend to the liturgies of the church, to make sure that the Eucharist and the high holy days of the liturgical calendars are duly observed. And yet no one knows better than Joanna that God is sick of liturgy with blood-stained hands.

The prophet Isaiah says that God can’t endure this shit anymore – offerings, incense, Sabbaths, solemn assemblies, appointed festivals. God hates it all, these rich and finely performed liturgies are a burden to God. I mean, we believe that God is ‘omnipotent’ and all, but Isaiah says that these liturgies make God weary, they sap the divine strength!

Isn’t that curious?

The only thing that can strip God of divine power is the liturgy of God’s people!

And then the prophet comes to a devastating conclusion. Speaking in the voice of God, Isaiah says,

When you stretch out your hands,
I will hide my eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.

I will not listen. I will not look.

The divine eyes and ears are closed to a people who pray fervently, who present wonderful liturgies, but whose hands are full of blood.

No one knows this better than Joanna Manning.

Isaiah has a solution to this problem, however. It is a covenantal solution. It isn’t rocket science, it isn’t complicated. It is profoundly simple, deeply healing, and radically true. But it isn’t easy:

Cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.

Six verbs: cease, learn, seek, rescue, defend, plead.

One negative, five positive.

Cease, repent, turn away from evil, and then direct your life to the good, justice, the oppressed, the orphan and the widow.

It’s actually the only way to get the blood off of our hands.

And so as a community we lay our own blood-stained hands on our sister, consecrating her to continue a ministry of justice, indeed, a ministry that just might occasion the renewal of liturgies and worship that is worthy of our God.

Come and pray.
Pray for Joanna.
Pray for the church.
Pray for justice.
Pray for healing.
Pray for forgiveness.

Joanna Manning’s ordination details:
November 27 at 4.30 pm
All Saints Kingsway Anglican Church
2850 Bloor St West | Toronto, ON

All are welcome. Members of the WBB community will be participating in the service.

Brian will lead us beside strange waters, reading excerpts from his book. Steve Bell, Glen Soderholm, Mike Janzen and the Wine Before Breakfast Band will kick at the musical darkness till it bleeds daylight. And all the proceeds from this event will go like arrows of light to support our friends at Parkdale Neighbourhood Church.

Say you want to come? Tickets are 75% Sold Out, but you can still reserve yours at 416.531.6604 or www.hughsroom.com

From the Publisher:

For forty years, singer and songwriter Bruce Cockburn has been writing beautifully evocative music. Bestselling author and respected theologian Brian Walsh has followed Cockburn’s work for years and has written and spoken often on his art. In this creative theological and cultural engagement, Walsh reveals the imaginative depth and uncompromising honesty of the artist’s Christian spirituality. Cockburn offers hope in the midst of doubt, struggle, failure, and anger; indeed, the sentiment of “kicking at the darkness” is at the heart of his spirituality. This book engages the rich imagery of Cockburn’s lyrics as a catalyst for shaping and igniting a renewed Christian imagination.

You can also head over to Brazos Press to see what others are saying about the book or check out the event poster here.

I’ve got to confess that I’ve never really got the ‘heaven’ thing.

I know, I know, ‘going to heaven’ seems to be at the heart of Christian piety.
Our hymnody, our preaching, our prayers seem to be preoccupied with heaven as our most hoped for destination.

Now, I’ve never got this because as far as I can see the Scriptures never offer heaven as the eternal destination for believers.

Last week at WBB we read the end of the story where the whole direction of things isn’t ‘up’ but ‘down.’

“I saw the New Jerusalem, come down from God out of heaven….”

Coming down. So how come we always want to go up?

Well, let’s go from the end of the Bible back to the beginning.

In Genesis we meet the first human creature, made in the image of God, but decidedly earthly. In fact the Hebrew name given to that creature is ‘adam, which is rooted in ‘adamah, the earth. So humans are ‘adam from the ‘adamah, humans from the humus. We are earth creatures. Created from the dust, created from the very stuff of the earth.

So when did we get the idea that somehow we should try to rise above our earthly roots (metaphorically and literally)? When did we decide that ‘up’ was the direction of human life and not ‘down’? When did we get this thing about being removed from the earth, above the earth? When did we start reaching for the heavens and longing for a place of height looking down upon all that is below, looking down on our very birth place, looking down on earth?

Think Babel.
Think of a tower and think of a city.

Our preoccupation with ‘up’ can be traced back to that primordial act of city and tower building.
A city and tower that can reach the heavens.
A city and tower where we can “make a name for ourselves.”

But here’s the thing.
We already have a name and it is ‘adam. It is ‘earth creature.’

Cities and towers. They always go together.

Cities, towers and a despising of the earth. Must they always go together?
Cities, towers and wanting to go to heaven. Has Babel actually won in the end?

I hope not. But that might be hoping against hope.

We continue our meditations on the city in biblical faith at WBB.

And I’ll put on the coffee.

Hope to see you on Tuesday.

Shalom,

Brian
 

Wine Before Breakfast is a worshiping community that I pastor at the University of Toronto. And in many respects, Empire Remixed was born out of that community. This year we are taking the city as a central theme for our reading of Scripture, prayer and liturgy. We began, perhaps oddly, with Revelation 18, the fall of Babylon.

We coupled the reading with the band playing Leonard Cohen’s song, “The Future.” I offer to the Empire Remixed community my reflections on this apocalyptic text. The sermon was preached on September 13, perhaps too close to the tenth anniversary of 9/11. You be the judge.

It’s a hell of a place to start.

I know.

And I mean that literally. Revelation 18, the fall of Babylon, is one hell of a place to begin another year of worship together at Wine Before Breakfast.

And throwing Leonard Cohen’s “The Future” into the mix certainly wasn’t going to soften the blow of Revelation 18.

Your servant here he has been told
to say it clear, to say it cold:
it’s over, it ain’t going any further.

And then making a reference to Ezekiel that is not unlike how John the Revelator related to that ancient prophet, Cohen writes:

And now the wheels of heaven stop,
you feel the devil’s riding crop,
get ready for the future:
it is murder.

Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great!
Babylon, that great city, that great empire,
that was so full of the rich and the beautiful,
the very seat of civilization,
the empire, like all empires, that sees itself as a world historic force for good,
for progress,
is deconstructed in this apocalyptic vision,
it’s laid bare, stripped of its pretension,
and revealed to be a dwelling place of demons, foul spirits,
and everything that is foul.

And then Cohen employs explicit sexual imagery in his prophetic vision,

give me absolute control, over every living soul
and lie beside me, baby, that’s an order
give me crack and anal sex
take the only tree that’s left and stuff it up the hole in your culture!

What kind of language is that for Christian worship at 7.22 in the morning?

Well listen to the voice of the angel who speaks with great authority and illuminates the darkness of this earth with his splendour:

all the nations have drunk the wine of the wrath of her fornication
all the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her

Everybody’s screwing with Babylon!

In this imagery, she is the great whore and we all have consummated our idolatrous lives in her bed.

So it is no wonder that another voice now interrupts the vision and says,
“Come out of her, my people”

“Don’t not take part in her sin.”

The nations and the kings are fornicating with Babylon, so come out of her, my people:

engage in a radical act of coitus interruptus!
get the hell out of Babylon!
get out of that bed of idolatrous copulation,
stop screwing around with Babylon!

I know, I know, its pretty comfortable in Babylon’s bed!

There are bonuses available for those who play by her rules,
there is wealth to be had,
luxury to be enjoyed,and if you close your ears to the cries of the poor,
close your ears to the oppression of Babylon’s slaves,
close your ears to the groaning of all of creation,
indeed, close your ears to the God of covenantal love,

you just might be able to live in Babylon’s little dream world,
you just might be able to believe in Babylonian exeptionalism,
you just might be able to believe that Babylon is inherently good,
you just might be able to believe, lying between her legs,

that she is a queen, secure, open for business,
unmoveable, unshakeable and will always overcome any adversity.

At least that is what all the speeches from Babylon proclaim.
The Babylonian dream is alive,
the Babylonian way of life is not up for negotiation,
Babylon never apologizes for anything,
and if you are not for Babylon, then you are against Babylon.

But these angels see things differently.
They can see the future, and it is murder.
They can see the breaking of the ancient western code.
They can see the nations rise and fall.

And their vision is not clouded by ambiguity,
there is no nuance in their vision,
there is no postmodern undecidability,
no attempt to be politically correct,
no sensitivity to those who will meet their demise in Babylon.

No, Babylon’s judgement is rooted in Babylon’s economy.
It really is as simple as that.

How do you know that Babylon is a haunt of demons?
Because,

“the merchants of the earth have grown rich from the power of her luxury,”
“she glorified herself and lived luxuriously,”
“the kings of the earth … committed fornication and lived in luxury with her,”
“all who had ships at sea grew rich by her wealth.”

Any place with that kind of opulence,

that kind of conspicuous consumption,
that kind of wealth and luxury,
is by definition full of demons and evil spirits.

And why will the merchants weep and mourn for her?

because there will be no one left to buy their cargoes of luxury and wealth:
no one left to buy their gold, silver, jewels and pearls,
their fine linen, scented wood, articles of ivory,
their rich spices, wine, olive oil and choice flour and wheat,
their livestock and the arms trade in horses and chariots,
there will be no one left to buy the slaves,
the human lives that are at the foundation of this whole economy!

The merchants weep because they have lost their market!

Well, it’s over, it ain’t going any further.

your dainties and your splendour,
your national security and your economic power,
is all gone.

And then the vision takes a shocking turn.

If this devastating judgement were not enough,
we are now called to rejoice in the face of Babylon’s suffering:
“Hallelujah, Babylon is fallen”
“Rejoice over her, O heaven, you saints and apostles and prophets!
For God has given judgement for you against her.”

Rejoice at the demise of this empire.
Rejoice that her fornication cannot continue.
Rejoice that her violence over the earth is brought to an end.
Rejoice because in her death, the slaves will be set free.

But this is one hell of a costly rejoicing. And not one that I’m really up to.

You know, friends, I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few months about the city, and about the shape of urban ministry.

And a lot of folks who write about the city glory in the dynamism of the city, the rich busyness of urban life,

The way in which cities are places of culture and the arts, of industry and creativity,
of commerce and of relationships.

And all of that is true.

But I’m not sure that it is the right place to begin thinking about urban ministry.

My hunch is that we need to begin at the end precisely because the beginning was always ambiguous and anticipated the end.

You see, it is Cain who first builds a city, and you can be pretty sure that this was not a cultural development to enhance our ability to be our brothers’ keepers.

And then the next city is the prototype of the Babylon that we meet in Revelation 18 – the Tower of Babel.

And then we meet Sodom, which becomes the archetype in biblical imagination of evil cities.

So yes, cities are wonderful sites of concentrated populations where cultural productivity and creativity can happen.

But listen to this judgement on Babylon:

the great city will be no more;
the sound of harpists and minstrels, of musical creativity will be no more;
artisans and fine-skilled trades will be no more;
the light of the lamp to dispel the darkness will be no more;
and the voice of bride and bridegroom,
that delightful giggle of erotic embrace,
this too will be no more.

No more, no more, no more, no more, no more.

And we are left with silence.
“Hello silence my old friend”

Silence. Not a sound. Not a voice. Not a word. Not a song.

Why?
Because your merchants were the magnates of the earth,

and the nations were deceived by your sorcery,
so it is time for you to shut up,
stop polluting the world with your distorted ideology.

You engaged in voodoo economics,

deceiving the nations as your elite classes became fat with their wealth
so it is time for you to shut up,
you have nothing to say to a world of poverty and broken dreams.

And in you, was found the blood of the prophets and of the saints,

and of all you have slaughtered on the earth,
so it is time for you to shut up,
and listen to the cries of those you have oppressed.

Welcome to Wine Before Breakfast, friends.
We come together in Babylon, looking for a better city.
We come together in the deafening silence of this cultural ending
and we have the audacity to speak, to sing and to pray.

And maybe this can be our prayer:

If it be your will that a voice be true,
from this broken hill, I will sing to you,
from this broken hill, all your praises they shall ring
if it be your will to let me sing

If it be your will, if there is a choice,
let the rivers fill, let the hills rejoice,
let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell,
if it be your will to make us well

And draw us near and bind us tight,
all your children here in their rags of light,
in our rags of light, all dressed to kill,
and end this night, if it be your will.

(Leonard Cohen, “If it be your will”)

What do we see in the dark?
What are we looking for when we go to the movies?
How  might  faith  and  film  illuminate  each  other?

This event seeks to bring faith into fruitful dialogue with the 2011 Toronto International Film Festival.

7:30 Panel Discussion with Mark Bowald, Sherry Corman and John Franklin.
8:15 Special Screening of ‘Kavi’
8.45 Panel & Audience Response to ‘Kavi’
9.15 Theological Reflection on the film
9.30 Reception Hosted by Imago