Radio New Jerusalem
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The Seminary Papers By Philip D. Ropp Submitted to McCormick Theological Seminary In Lieu of Course Work For the Fall Semester -- 1977 |
Contents With
Liberty and Justice for All
The Strange Malady About Your God... This God of Theirs Gentlemen, All is Not Well The Abuse of Scripture The Census of Babylon The Incident Year People
-- what have you done --
locked Him in His golden cage. Made Him bend to your religion -- Him resurrected from the grave. Ian Anderson |
Preface In the
fall of 1977, I entered McCormick Theological Seminary in
Chicago for the purpose of pursuing the Master of Divinity degree
necessary for ordination as a minister in the Presbyterian
Church. It
was during the spring of this same year that Jack Quirk and I had
encountered Christ in a most dramatic and soul saving incident that we
have ever since referred to simply as "The Incident." The story
of
this remarkable year of 1977 is related in "The Incident Year," which
forms the backdrop to the works presented here and so I shall go into
no further detail.
Suffice it to say that at that time (and, for that matter, to this day) I had placed much of the blame for the personal decline that lead to this Incident on the instruction that I had received at Alma College under the guise of education in the Christian faith: My training in the "preministry" program. While I certainly understand that it is I and I alone that bear the ultimate responsibility, it is, nonetheless, also true that the Godless and at times hedonistic aspects of my undergraduate experience played no small role in bringing me to the edge of the spiritual abyss that I had plunged into when Jesus was gracious enough to save a sinner such as I. When I entered McCormick Theological Seminary it was with an open mind and with the hope that my undergraduate experience had been an aberration. What I discovered was the same faithless and worldly version of institutional Christianity, but with a thin layer of smarmy false pietism spread over it like honey over a corpse. Like the devil wearing a "smiley face" mask. And this is what I told them ... |
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And
now,
go, write it before them on a tablet, and inscribe it in a book, that
it may be for the time to come as a witness forever. For they are
a
rebellious people, lying sons, sons who will not hear the instruction
of the Lord; who say to the seers, "See not;" and to the prophets,
"Prophesy not to us
what is right; speak unto us smooth things, prophesy illusions, leave
the way, turn aside from the path, let us hear no more of the Holy One
of Israel."
Isaiah
30:8-11
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Introduction
Elsewhere I have in rather blunt terms outlined some of the
observations that I have made concerning the state of the church and of
"Christianity" (the organized variety) since beginning my brief
seminary career. These remarks were made not out of any sense of
vindictiveness or superficial indignation, but more because of a great
need on my part to reconcile the reality of the church to its ideal as
set forth in the New Testament. The basic conclusion that I have
come to through this process of analysis is that the organized church
is an institution that bears not even slight resemblance to that which
we see within Acts and the works of Paul.
There is talk among a few of reorganizing this or reforming that, and to be sure these persons are very well meaning in their intentions. However, the matter has gone much past the results that would be possible through these suggested (and in my opinion cosmetic) changes. The basic fault that is to be found is that of the corporate structure and mentality of the organization itself. In any introductory business course one of the first principles that is taught is that the corporation has one major goal that must supersede all others: The propagation of the organization itself. It is for this reason that the organized church cannot be representative of New Testament Christianity, for when the responsibilities of the faith come in conflict with the well-being of the corporate structure, it is the corporate structure that must always win in the end. The ridiculous game of suburban make-believe Christianity that the church has involved itself in must go on basically as it is. Not because it is in accordance with the teachings of Christ (which anyone must be able to see as well as I can that it certainly is not) but simply because this mode of expression is good business. In July of 1976, I was a "youth delegate" to the annual meeting of my Synod which was held complete with all sorts of meaningless pomp and ceremony at a small, Presbyterian college in southeastern Ohio. As youth delegates (most averaged about 16 years of age -- I was 22 at the time), we were instructed by our counselor to smile at the commissioners, be as polite as possible, and basically not to cause any trouble. We were, however, allowed to ask questions, and when I overheard two commissioners discussing an $800,000 "reserve fund" that the Synod held, I became quite curious. I asked one of them if holding on to large sums of money such as that was not at variance to Jesus' teaching concerning the tearing down of smaller barns to build bigger barns and the importance of trusting in providence. His reply was, "I quite agree with you theologically, but having it is just good business." When I pushed the issue by asking if the Synod's business was always considered more important than the Gospel of Jesus, I was told in less than the politest of terms that as a youth delegate I was allowed the privilege of observing my church in action and that I shouldn't abuse that privilege by asking questions about things that I was too young to have any knowledge of. After this, our beloved youth counselor instructed us to ask only "positive" questions, at which I gathered up my things and began the eight hour drive home. It was one-thirty in the morning, but I was much more willing to spend the rest of the night on the road than I was to try to deal with foolishness such as that. I may have been young and inexperienced, but I was certainly old enough to tell right from wrong. I had gone to this Synod meeting hopeful of finding a judicatory that was sincerely struggling with the concrete issues that the Gospel of Jesus must confront, and within this context I will admit to a certain naiveté. I had spent the year past working in a small church as the assistant to the moderator of the session and while finding some personal reward in the close personal relationships that I was able to establish through my pastoral functioning, I was most disheartened by the general lack of a sense of maintaining any integrity with the teachings of the New Testament faith. In a situation where the church was struggling to maintain its existence, the two major goals of the session were the purchasing of a new riding lawn-mower and the resurfacing of the parking lot. In the self study that was conducted the means of attaining financial security was seen as a need to recruit more "well-to-do" members, while future priorities consisted of buying new flags and a portrait of Jesus for the sanctuary. When a man that had been attending the church regularly (though he had not become a member) had lost his unemployment benefits and was pushed out of the sleeping room that he had occupied came to me for help, I suggested to the session that he be employed as a part-time church caretaker and remunerated for his services as a mission project. I was in turn informed that mission money for such as these was turned over to the Salvation Army and that this man should go there for help, his pride not withstanding. There were insurances and such things to think of that just simply made the church's role in such an undertaking quite impossible (though of course they were able to find $1800 for their parking lot and $500 for their new lawn-mower). This poor soul was then forced to spend the next month sleeping on the floor of my office (luckily I was able to hide this fact from the church people who I am certain would have put a stop to this immediately due to insurances or such other nonsense) until I was able to find help for him through the local Social Services office, which succeeded in taking what remained of this proud little man's dignity away from him and would ultimately result in his death (another story which is told elsewhere). Though admittedly this is an extreme case, it nonetheless is symbolic of the deep sickness that has manifested itself within the church. Money and business are the major concerns, and though of course there are many well meaning individuals that are very much concerned with this sate of affairs, they are sadly a very insignificant minority. Throughout the church structure there is much talk of changing this or that and of affirmation and Christian commitment, yet it is obvious through escalating salaries, the widespread stress upon the acquisition of material treasures, and the general lack of regard and commitment to the faith of Jesus and the Apostles that this talk is at its most basic level nothing more than empty rhetoric. When the Christian facade that the church has attempted to construct is torn away all that is left is a corporation like most any other, save the all important special tax privileges that it enjoys, and as with any other corporate structure its most important concern is and will always remain the corporate structure itself. While reading through the collection of essays that follow I fully realize that there will be those that will attempt to pass me off as merely another overzealous "fundamentalist" or as some sort of fanatic. I invite you to read closely, for to the thoughtful reader it will be obvious that I am by no means a fundamentalist nor a fanatic. To those that tend to deal with people by attaching labels to them and so disregarding whatever they have to say, I ask merely your indulgence. It is my fond hope, however, that many will find what is written in the ensuing pages disquieting and perhaps thought provoking, for in all honesty it can be noted that I am neither stupid nor poorly educated. The tone that I have adopted is one that is admittedly born out of anger and frustration, but more it is an attempt to simply express my feelings in the most honest and straightforward manner possible. It is my contention that there is a great and eternal truth that is presented within the Bible, that curious and ancient collection of documents, a truth that cannot and must not be submerged in the myriad of esoteric and in many ways useless studies that characterize virtually all of that which claims to be education in the Christian faith. It is a truth that transcends the historical and cultural barriers that are claimed by many to be the all important criteria in determining right and wrong, truth and fiction. The crux of the matter, then, is just this simple: to those that have rejected the reality of an all-powerful transcendent being as childish, primitive, unscientific, or unintellectual, I will most likely appear to be at least somewhat deluded. I am well aware of all of the arguments that can be made from these various positions, for I too have lived within traps such as these for a considerable length of time, and I have made to others all of the arguments that I presume will be used against what I have written in the ensuing essays. If you are right and I am wrong then it is I that have made a fool of myself and I apologize for my impertinence. If, however, it turns out that I am right after all then it is not me that you will have to prepare your excuses for and I wish you luck. My intent here is not to pass any judgments nor to abuse or insult. I wish only to instruct and ask only that the reader, regardless of status or position, attempt to keep his mind open to the very distinct possibility that things may not always be as they appear. |
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With Liberty And Justice for All By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
My friend, Ray, died last night. He was no great leader, no great personality, and by the standards that such things are judged, he made no great contribution to humanity. He was a little man like so many little men that spend their lives groping for a little dignity and end up in an obscure grave wearing the only decent suit they've ever owned. Instead of eulogies the most that is said is, "Well, he's better off." Ray is not better off. He's dead. Life was never easy for Ray. At the age of 12, when most boys are busy playing at the things that boys do, Ray was setting pins in a Grand Rapids bowling alley for 10 cents a line to help support his mother. His father had died when Ray was still an infant, and the subsequent moving around of his family never permitted him to attain more than a second grade education. This lack of education bothered Ray a great deal. On the dozens of job applications that he filled out and never heard from again he would always fill in the blank labeled "education" with "grade 6 completed." Ray was embarrassed about his lack of education, but he could read and write a little and this was something in which he took great pride. He was able to read well enough to spend lonely hours reading the stories that filled his dog-eared old Bible, and he read well enough to attain an understanding of those teachings that so many who claim a strong adherence to the Christian faith seem to overlook. He learned and believed that no matter how little he had it was to be shared with those even less fortunate than himself. I have seen him spend several week's pay to buy a second-hand sofa and within a week give it away because, "those folks got a baby and they didn't have no bed for the little fellow and I just couldn't stand the thought of him having to sleep on the floor." I have seen him go without things that he needed because he'd spent his money on milk for the baby that slept on his sofa in the dingy apartment below his own. There are some ridiculous values by which this society of ours judges a man. Fame, fortune and prestige are held to be the balance weights against which that mystical and elusive quality "success" is weighed. By this measure Ray was indeed a little man, for he left this world with very little more than he had when he entered it. How sad it is that we tend to judge a man by the goods that he has acquired or by the influence that he wields, because to do so is to judge him by a standard that is false. The true indication of the worth of a man should be found in such things as compassion, concern for others, honesty, and friendship, and if this is so then my friend Ray was a giant of a man, for he possessed all of these qualities in abundance. The fact that Ray died alone in his dark, cold room with the 4 dollars that he owned in his pocket is in itself a tragedy, but it is a tragedy that is compounded by other circumstances. Ray knew that his heart was bad. So did the people at Social Services that had him working a road crew to pay his rent. So did the doctors at the clinic he attended. So did the people that provided the medical insurance that paid for the medication that he needed to sustain his life. Yet when he was no longer able to afford his medicine none of these people made it clear to Ray that he was eligible to have it bought for him by the state. To be sure, this information was provided on one of the many forms that Ray was handed, but to a man with second grade capabilities the legalese of these forms could just as well have been Greek. In the end it was a combination of work that was too heavy for a man with a bad heart, no medication, and a proud, " I have to work for what they give me" attitude that proved fatal to my friend. It is a sad commentary on this society of ours -- a society founded on the humanistic principle of equality for all -- that a man that wants to work and make his own way ends up with nothing. Not even his life. To the minister of the church that Ray attended it went even beyond this life, for as I composed my remarks for Ray's funeral he insisted that I make no mention of afterlife concerning Ray because "people like that" (those not of the so-called "Family of Christ," i.e. the Church) are not so entitled. For Ray, his goal in this life was simply the dignity that comes from earning one's own way, a dignity that he was denied to the end. Beyond the tragedy of the life and death of my friend Ray lies the depravity of the seven headed demon of bureaucracy that devours such little people by forcing them to surrender what little dignity they have merely so they can survive. For Ray even survival was ultimately denied. When I first heard the news of my friend's death and the circumstances involved my immediate response was to call for the persecution of whomever was at fault. I soon came to realize, however, that it is not that easy, for it is each and every one of us that is at fault. It is you and I that have allowed this system of ours to grow into a monster that can kill and not even produce a pang of conscience. It is you and I that stand by in the face of such a tragedy as this and merely shrug and say among ourselves, "Well, he's better off." Perhaps Ray is better off. It is the rest of us that have lost. And perhaps as I stand alone at the simple grave of a simple man it is not only for a fallen friend that I weep, but for what the rest of us have become. The
Death of a Friend Revisited:
A Postscript to "With Liberty and Justice for All" My friend Ray, dead now for nearly a year, was perhaps the one person I have ever known that was a true Christian in the New Testament sense of the term. He was no great churchman, no great scholar, and all things considered no great expert on much of anything that most men consider important. Ray owned one good suit at the time he died, and that was the one that his family (somewhat self consciously) bought for his funeral the day after his death. He had many of the bad habits that seem to plague most of us in that he smoked too many cigarettes, swore like sailor and ate the wrong things -- the latter not by choice but by necessity. The one thing that Ray could do better than anyone else that I have ever known is love. He was totally unselfish with the few possessions that he owned, and would have had more than the scant room full of junk that his relatives fought for after his death if it hadn't been for the fact that he would give anything of any value to anyone whose need he judged to be worse than his own. Here was a man that truly would have laid down his life for a friend if the need had ever arisen, and not though twice about doing so. No exaggeration. I saw him hurt so deeply as to wonder if he would ever recover by the woman he loved, as she would skip into his life long enough to take him for whatever money and material goods she could get out of him, then leave with another man. Yet each time she came crawling back he would forgive her without questions and try to mend her hurts the best that he could. I remember going with him to visit the aged mother that he kept in a dumpy nursing home and trying to comfort him as he cried on the way home -- not because he had a wealthy sister and brother a scant few hours drive away that refused any remuneration to him for the bills that he always managed somehow to take care of, but because he grieved so deeply the fact that he didn't have the means to see that she was taken care of properly. He had met the struggle to take care of her all of his adult life, and when she reached her twilight years, her mind losing the battle rapidly to the ravages of senility, Ray hurt because he could no longer keep her in his own home and provide her with even the most meager of material comforts as he had been able to do when he was young and his heart was strong enough so that he could make his living doing whatever back-breaking work that a man with no education or training could get. At the time I knew Ray, I was working a kind of interim pastorate at the church he attended. The minister of this church, a close friend and very decent man, had helped Ray through some hard times and when he left for another position in a church in upstate New York, I took it upon myself to to keep an eye on Ray and see that he got along all right. Naive as I was, I assumed that a church was basically for the purpose of ministering to those in need. The congregation, however, proved that I had been mistaken in this assumption. Misfortune hit my friend hard when his unemployment benefits ran out and he was forced to vacate the seedy sleeping room that he had been renting. Swallowing what little pride he had left, he turned to me for help and I took the matter to the session of the church. I suggested that they employ Ray as a part-time limited custodian. He had been hanging around the church doing odd jobs such as vacuuming and washing windows (he did this without anyone's knowledge because he felt guilty over the fact that he had no money to donate to the church's treasury) and I merely suggested that he be paid for doing these things and in that way it would possible to salvage what was left of his considerable personal pride. The answer was a flat no. There simply was no money in the budget for such an extravagance, what with the new sealer that was needed for the parking lot and the new riding lawnmower (which I was assured was a necessity) to pay for. I suggested that these funds could be secured from the so-called "mission" budget and again the answer was negative. It seems that all of the mission money for "that kind of thing" was donated to the Salvation Army who, I was told, were the experts in handling cases of the less fortunate within the community. Besides, there were such important issues at stake as insurance should Ray be inconsiderate enough to hurt himself while working in their precious building, and what if he should happen to break something, and how would it look to have someone like that hanging around the place all of the time. And of course the clincher to the whole argument: how could they be certain that Ray wasn't some bum or derelict that didn't want to work and was just trying to get a free ride. How indeed. The matter was dropped with no further discussion, and as I recall the meeting moved on to consider what some felt to be the very important matter of allocating money for new flags for the sanctuary. In the meantime poor Ray slept on the floor of my office at night, sneaking out early each morning so that none of the church people would catch him, and never once did I hear him complain. I do recall, however, that he would on occasion walk around after the Sunday morning service and thank various members of the congregation for allowing him to worship with them. It struck me as most paradoxical at the time, and even more so now, that the one person in that church that most exemplified the humanistic principles of the Christian faith as set forth by Jesus in the Gospels was denied by many even the courtesy of a polite greeting on Sunday mornings. Ray would have gladly sacrificed his very life for anyone of those people and with a few noble exceptions not withstanding, the general opinion that they held of him was that he was a nuisance and an eyesore and that his main goal in hanging around was to free-load. I have never been a poor man, for i have always eaten at the appointed times and been warm in the winters and have always laid my head on feathers when the cool of the evening called me in from outside. And my roommate tells the fat lady at the supermarket that we poor, deprived seminarians live in poverty and she agrees and states her plight as the same, and all the time I think of a little man that fought all of his life to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly and his mother warm and well kept. Will this mocking never cease? My friend Ray struggled his whole life with basically two goals in mind: to stay alive and to be good to people in whatever way he could. And what did he get for his troubles? One good suit to be buried in and a decent funeral (which I had to fight to provide for him), while his wealthy sister stood at the luncheon afterwards and bemoaned the fact that now she would have to bear the burden of taking care of Mother (which, by the way, consisted of sticking the poor old lady in another institution). Ray attended my church because he had a deep love of people and a strong and persevering faith in the Christian Gospel, the gospel of love. He attended my church because he believed this to be the place where all men were equal and where he could find dignity without having to pay for it, and where he could find love and a place to give love. Never did he speak an unkind word about anyone there, and, too, there never was an occasion when he did not have a kind word to say about (or to) someone. And how did these gracious "Christian" people respond? They made poor Ray the butt of their jokes and they told their children to stay away from him. They worried about having him around too much for fear that he might steal some valuable material treasure from their all holy building, and they worried about leaving money around where he might take it. And when I brought his case before them when he was most in need all they could think of was their parking lot, their lawnmower and their insurance policies. I told them of Ray's honesty and basic goodness and assured them their beloved dollars would not be going to waste. I offered to personally supervise everything that Ray did and to take total responsibility for him. They chuckled at my naivety and lovingly reprimanded me for my youthful zeal and idealism, assuring me that I would gain more sense in such matters as I grew older. The answer was no. When I told Ray of their decision he looked at the floor to hide his hurt from me and said quietly, "I can't blame them. It's not their fault that I'm a bum." The following week he worked extra hard at the vacuuming and windows -- and polished the pews as well. There is a simple and basic curse that permits the church from being Christian in the New testament sense: the curse of the dollar-god. Ray could have won the esteem and admiration of every member of the church and they would have loved him as a Christian brother if only he would have had a few bills to throw into the collection plate each week. If only he could have pledged. Ray had no money; all that he could offer them was love and that just simply was not what they wanted. Even more tragic is the fact that love was the one thing that they could not offer in return. Christianity is a poor man's religion and the church is owned by the rich and as long as this is so, the basic attitude of the church will not be Christian. Empathy for the poor is not enough; it is in fact a rather base form of mockery. It is the throwing of crumbs into the wind and then sitting pompously on fat behinds while those that have been "helped" scamper to stay alive. And of course they must be grateful of there is no point in helping them at all. Ray died not because he was refused the scraps from the rich man's table, but through a lack of love and concern, and as he was lowered into the ground the only comment that people from his church made was, "Well, he's better off." The man that was chosen pastor of the church and assumed those duties at my departure sat me down as I was going about the task of preparing my remarks for Ray's funeral and insisted that I make no mention of afterlife for Ray because he had never been "Baptized into the family of Christ." Even in death, Ray was to be deprived by this foolish and ungodly thing that calls itself by the name of Christ -- the man that Ray had followed so quietly and faithfully for all those many years of struggle. Such cruelty and madness I have yet to fully comprehend and most likely never will. I have a vision that comes to mind when ever I think of my old friend Ray. I see God sitting upon the Throne of Judgment on the Final Day and I see all of those that sat in judgment upon Ray in this life and refused him their love and concern about to be cast into the ever-burning torment for their transgressions. And at the last instant I see Ray step forward and intercede with the Almighty, offering to go to eternal torment himself if He would but spare his friends. Then I think, and perhaps only then, will they understand. |
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The Strange Malady By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
This is not to say that the earlier days of the church were characterized by the internal functioning of God's kingdom within the world, but rather with the advent of "Roman" Christianity that potential was lost. It is most likely that the religion of the New Testament actually died much earlier than this given the evidence that is available to us, but at least during the years of martyrdom and persecution an attempt was being made to follow the way of the Master. In all probability it is when the church submits to the governmental structure of the world (which it supposedly denounces) that it loses sight of the true kingdom, and by the closing of the New Testament era the struggle for the recognition of power through the false politic has begun. And yet when it is realized that to hold such earthly power often meant to die the hideous death of a martyr, it can be clearly seen that this is still much more attuned to the theme of the Gospel of Christ than those of later days who, through the false power of ecclesiastical office, would become the slayer instead of the slain. The strange malady, then, is not Christianity. The faith that is based upon the Gospel of Jesus is not susceptible to the foolishness of worldly evil. The true Church, that which seeks earnestly to follow the correct path of the Christian faith as presented in the New Testament, exists not in buildings or judicatories and does not adorn itself with the trappings of the material world to stand before the masses and proclaim itself mighty and righteous. the true Church does not pay its highly trained "witnesses to the truth" to stand before the gathering of the flock and proclaim the emptiness of the God of Nothing who, they claim, wants no more from them but that they should "affirm" each other in their ungodly behavior. The true Church does not run a string of indoctrination centers which encourage and train the fledging false witness in the fine art of inventing the truth to go with earthly circumstances -- and this so he can draw his "professional" salary without the guilt of knowing that he has become part and parcel to the perpetration of the blasphemy of the Great Lie that calls itself the "Church of God" or some such thing. The true Church exists as it always has, unseen but ever present as it weeps for those that have denied the truth and power of the very tradition that they claim to represent. It exists through history -- not because of it, and claims no great role for itself save that of attempting the near impossible task of following the Way, in itself a commitment that leaves little time for afternoon teas at the vicarage and such other nonsense. The true Church is not readily visible (and especially not to those most deeply involved in the silliness of "Christendom") but exists as the kingdom of God awaiting only the souls necessary to populate it. And still it waits, watching sadly the malady that not only possesses the organized "Church" but in no small way is that which calls itself by the name of Christ, yet stands against all that He stands for. How, then, does one that is in earnest concerning the following of the teachings of Jesus go about doing so if the institutions that bear his name are possessed of this strange malady? Obviously, the first step is to stay out of the country clubs, fun houses, and show palaces that call themselves churches. What better way to be led away from the truth than by falling in with those that are active members of the deception? The church that manifests itself in worldliness has built itself upon a foundation of sand, and as can be clearly seen throughout its history, when this foundation has become exposed new sand has been hastily piled upon the old to make it again temporarily secure. When the day comes that the false foundation of the organized church gives way, the fall will be horrendous, and to be sure no one will find comfort within its confines when it tumbles into so much whitewashed debris. The next step would be to go back to the New Testament and begin reading it as something more than some loose guidelines towards a false moralism. This requires a different approach than even the most dedicated "fundamentalist" in that those of this bent seem prone to "literalize" only those sections of the Scripture that support convictions made quite outside the realm of Biblical truth. It is just as foolish to claim that the Bible is totally the Word of God as if from His own mouth as it is to claim that it is entirely human in origin. In this respect it can be seen that the fundamentalist and the scholar actually represent different sides of the same coin. Both claim only partial responsibility to the Christianity of the New Testaments through selective use of Scripture, and so righteously stand and defend their respective doctrines as the truth. For one the doctrine of the infallibility of the Scriptures causes him to lock his God away in the confines of a cobweb covered and dusty old book, while for the other his God is reduced to nothing more than prattle about "Q" sources, redaction criticism, historicity of this or that, etc., ad infinitum. The one treats Scripture as if it were the Absolute, the other as a curious relic from a forgotten age, somehow miraculously preserved down to the present time so that it may be studied in the same manner as and compared at length to other documents from the distant past. The result is that both hold human doctrine as if it were absolute, the result of which is that the nasty name by which the latter most frequently refers to the former applies equally to both: "fundamentalist." It is and always has been true that the Scriptures are holy, yet never have they been Absolute. As with all works of men, whether divinely inspired or not, these too will pass away, for as the Scriptures themselves tell us, only God is Absolute. Therefore, what must be be of utmost importance is to follow the teachings of Jesus just as closely as possible and to work as intensely as one can at making the values of the Christ the values of his own life. Sadly, this will not leave time for such follies as the search for Noah's Ark or Biblical criticism. Christianity, in its true sense, is a full time occupation and to bind it up within the Scriptures, the organized church, or academia is to fall into the very clutches of the strange malady. |
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About Your God . . .
By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
It would seem
that the result of obsession with the strange malady would be the
denial of any kind of God at all so that the immersion into the
temporal and earthly might be more complete. This is not the case
at all since having some sort of God or other kicking around up in the
attic of the church (beside the worn-out altar cloths and hymnals that
are no longer used) is a very real necessity. How could they
ignore the responsibility of the faith as it is presented in the
Scriptures without the "Grand Old Man" upstairs to inform them through
the well-paid "witnesses to the truth" that their indiscretions are of
"His will?"
The beloved clergy are given the difficult task of running their particular branch of the family business, and with this responsibility always first and foremost in their minds, they must be very careful of the way in which they use the "Word of God" (which is actually what they call it while all the time keeping a straight face) lest they let out some ill chosen piece of scripture that might offend the gathering of the faithful. After all, it is the faithful, through their donations to the kingdom of God that pay the "professional level" salaries (which I am told they readily deserve since they are well educated) and provide the comforts of the manse to these dear men and their beloved families. The clergyman, realizing this from the very beginning of his formal training, learns very quickly to forget what little truth he may have been aware of that he might never upset those dear souls that pay their hard earned money to hear him speak his words of comfort to them. He is not unlike the sin eater of medieval times whose task it was to consume a huge meal laid upon a corpse that he might take the person's sins into himself and free that particular soul for heaven. In the same way the clergyman, by leading the flock of his congregation onward in deception, takes the responsibility for their being led astray upon himself. He is well trained to do this at the seminary of his choice where he receives his training regarding the corporation of the church and learns how to tell its lies to those that pay their money to listen. He is well trained so as not to rock the boat whether it be the local church or the higher judicatories of the corporation, and is led to believe that he actually has been given the freedom to interpret the Holy Writ to the sheep that sit before him, though of course this must be done in accordance with the "acceptable standards" so as not to disturb either the faithful or the corporation. In this way it can be seen that his seminary education becomes that period of his "career" in which he is spoon fed on the sins of the sin-eaters that have gone before him so that he may learn the proper way of presenting the corporate advertising to the congregation. It is not pleasant to ponder what ultimately becomes of all these sin-eaters, though if ignorance is an allowable excuse then at least some of them may find slight hope. As I sat in the student's lounge of the seminary (the students must be made comfortable) I overheard a professor speaking to two of his students, telling them that though of course it was ridiculous for an intelligent 20th century person to take literally such concepts as resurrection and incarnation one must, however, continue to use this "symbol structure" within the church, since the people have come to expect it and become uncomfortable when such things are denied from the pulpit. Later, in the elevator, when I asked this grinning "witness" by way of greeting how he was, he informed me that he was "Still trying to 'fight the good fight.'" One can only hope that such a one as this is the way he is out of ignorance and not by conviction. What is evidenced by this kind of behavior and language is the fact that there is no room within the confines of academia or the organized church for any kind of god other than the retired shopkeeper that has entrusted the management of the family business to his board of directors while he vacations at his villa in the Bahamas. What this God wants is for the business of the church to run smoothly in his absence so that he can enjoy himself and not have to worry about how things are being managed. The way that those in charge of the business perceive the matter is that this old God, having grown very tired after all those escapes with ancient Israel in the Old Testament, sent his son along so that the faith would be provided with a new young and dynamic corporate image. The son, in the early days, had some pretty wild ideas but it was an easy matter to listen to him politely then restrict him to the role of smiling buffoon, beckoning one and all to "buy our Sunday School," or "buy our potluck dinners." The board of directors were delighted! "It must truly be the Holy Spirit at work!" they exclaimed as they counted the dollars which piled up higher and higher each week. Sometimes, perhaps in the evening by the fire, the executive may open the New Testament and, even after checking to see if he is reading "Q" or an independent source, he may marvel at the teachings of the Son. "Some interesting ideas here," he may think as he draws on his pipe, "too bad these things are bad for business." He may even go so far as to wonder if perhaps some of these things should be presented to the congregation even given the fact that some of the gentler souls would find it upsetting. He could relate some of these things (those that proved no threat to the corporation of course) to the plight of the poor General Motors executives that sit before him every week to make sure they get the proper credit on their taxes. He finally decides against such a wild plan. "I'll tell them that we are all little flowers in God's great garden and that Christ is the gardener that comes around and sprinkles us all with the living water." He decides and so retires, warm at heart over both his cleverness and his service to his God. While it is obvious that a God such as this is extremely convenient when it comes to matters of avoiding the responsibilities of the New Testament faith, it is equally obvious that he creates problems in terms of deciding what kind of image the corporate church will present to its stock holders and the public at large. For this reason it has become necessary to invest heavily in the study of the faith in terms of theology, history, ethics, etc.. Through the study of theology the leaders of the corporate church are able to demonstrate that the aberrations that they practice (in the name of Christianity) are in reality the "will of God", and in view of this they proceed to instruct the would be "proclaimers of the Word" in the same farcical studies. And here we see only one approach that is employed when the stance of organized Christianity stands against that of New Testament Christianity. The approach that is the most ludicrous is also that which can be one of the most effective in assuring that the truth of Scriptures is eternally overlooked in favor of the more capitalistic functioning of the church. More important than the words of Jesus or the responsibilities of the church that bears his name as it is seen in Acts and the letters of Paul is the practice of Biblical criticism. "Look here", says the scholar, "This is the famous 'Q' source! And over here we have an obvious later redaction to the text!" What good sport! Now we know all about what the Bible means scientifically! Later on we will study it as myth and story in our theology class and then we will know all about that! After that we will study it in our ethics class and learn how to make God run around in circles and fetch the stick while we pat ourselves on the back for not persecuting Negroes and for "affirming" homosexuals by allowing them to 'witness to the truth' just like we normal 'Christians' do! How wonderful are we for spending all of our precious time involved in learning these invaluable skills! We must learn all about Canaanites and Moabites and Jebusites and Hittites and Amorites and of this tribe here and that one there, for such is the information that we will need as we go about our 'call' to proclaim the kingdom of God. Yes, it is no doubt that the liberal protestant seminaries turn out the most proficient Sunday School teachers in all of Christendom! How to reach these poor souls that have deluded themselves into believing that knowledge is an entity that is a by-product of education? How to tell them that the gods that they worship are of the temporal and earthly realm, while they One they have claimed to serve all these many years has stood all the time just one step out of their grasp, unable to be bought and able to respond only to their love. And so they heap their riches ever higher, building the walls around them ever stronger, ever higher, till they blot out what little light is still able to pick its way through the gaps in the stones. And yet their cross-topped ziggurats stretch ever higher into the sky, and the stack of bills on their money changer's tables grows ever deeper, and as they stand and proclaim their hollowed-out truths (and many outright lies) they are always very careful never to turn around and so continually have been fortunate to avoid staring down into the jaws of the yawning abyss that snaps ever closer at their heels. |
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This God of Theirs
By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
Years
ago, before the all important studies of science and theology taught us
to believe that there was nothing in existence that wasn't right before
our very noses, man believed in God. And he believed that this
God was the all-powerful ruler of the universe and the entire cosmos;
by His very nature and power an entity that was to be loved,
respected and feared for the grasp that He had upon the frail and
arrogant little
creatures that he had created.
And man sought to pay homage to this great and almighty being by offering Him dead and burned animals, and he called upon the name of this God to fight his battles for him and to bless him with children and to make his fields fertile so that he might always have enough food to eat and a warm place to lie his head when the cold and mystery of the night would draw upon him. And this God would help His people by talking to them from burning bushes and by parting great bodies of water that they might cross them and escape their enemies. And He would wreak great vengeance upon the enemies of His people. He would kill them by the thousands and He would give them over as slaves to the people that called Him their own, and they would stand upon the hill-tops and stick out their tongues and call to their enemies, "Our God is greater than your god", and they would go back to their altars and offer up more dead animals. And then there were wise men that arose and walked among the people because this God of theirs instructed them to do so. And these men cried aloud to the people, "Our God is the God of all men, and He is a God that is just. The evil must be punished while the good shall be exalted. And His wrath against those whose love of Him is false shall be the horrors of all eternity, and they shall writhe and scream and never find even the peace of the grave. Do not mistreat your neighbor and keep His commandments always, for this God of ours is the King of the Heavens both now and forever." But the people did not heed the words of the wise men and their tribulation grew and they were battered around and beaten by evil men and they called upon their God to save them and He answered them no more. The one day there arose a group of men that fancied themselves to be great holy men and they said to all that would listen, "If we want this God of ours to return to us and save us from these awful times then we must follow to the last degree all of the laws that He has written for us." And so these men picked out all of the silly little laws that they could make up out of the Holy Writings of the Ancient of Days and they followed them so closely that they had no occasion to take their noses out of their books and look at the world around them. And things grew worse and not better for all but the holy men, who grew rich by telling others what to do and who grew very evil in their abuse of the God that they claimed to represent. And so it came to pass that in those days there were no holy men of God to be found within the land. There were those who held the name of God aloft as a banner and battled under His name and there were, of course, the false holy men that grew fat while those that they led died all around them, but there were no holy men. And many knew this to be the time when the Holy One of God Himself would come and lead them in righteousness and valor, and, oh, what a great and glorious king he would be. And the God of all eternity took note of what was happening in His world below, and He saw His people and of how far away from Him they had strayed, and His heart was moved to great pity, for since the beginning of their time they had failed to see that they held their own salvation right within themselves. He had blessed them with the ability to love and He asked them from the beginning merely to love each other and to love and follow Him, and if they would do this He would promise them justice and a new place in the paradise that they had forfeited in the very beginning. Yet further and further had they strayed from Him until the world had become so evil that there was no hope for them to ever find their way back to Him. "I must prove to them once and for all how great my love for them is," He said. And one night, tucked away securely within the gentle arms of lore and legend, something wonderful happened. The skies were alight with the brilliance of eternity and there was singing that night as there never had been before or ever would be again. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, God himself lie asleep in a cattle stall. The Ancient of Days, the Almighty from everlasting to everlasting cried quietly in His mother's arms, a mere few pounds of soft pink flesh, on that night of all nights, the night that holds a special kind of magic for all down to this very day. No more would it be necessary to ponder the love of this God for His people, for when justice called for them to be destroyed, He instead stepped down from His throne to lie in a manger so that He might save them from themselves and the Evil One they followed. And so it came to pass that this God of theirs grew to be a man and walked among them as a brother, and He beckoned them to follow His Truth that they might be saved from the ravages of the Evil One that tempted them with his nasty games and wicked traps. And He worked His miracles right before their wondering eyes, causing many to exclaim, "Truly this is the Holy One of God Himself!" Yet the holy men refused to believe because it would have cost them their riches and their fancy robes and the praises of men. So they mocked this very God of theirs, even as He walked among them and tried to teach them of His Truth, and they made plans to kill Him and enlisted the services of the evil men that kept them in their riches so that they in turn would keep the people that the evil men mistreated under control. And they took this God of theirs and they hung Him on a cross, and they tortured Him and drove nails through His hands and feet and mocked Him and cursed Him and gambled for His clothing. And such was the love of this God of theirs that He begged that they be forgiven, for by their evil natures they knew no better. And this God of theirs died upon that cross, and He was taken away by the few of His followers that remained, and the evil men sealed Him into the ground that he might trouble them no more. This blackest of days passed. And then another. And on the third day the evil men were much disturbed by the reports that they had heard, for the followers of this God of theirs were claiming that He lived, that He had kicked the stone away from the door of His tomb and that He lived - just as He always had and always would. And His followers spread the word to all that would listen to their story, and they told of the miracle of the God that had loved them so much as to even die for them, and in His honor and to His glory they dedicated their new family of followers, calling themselves "the Church." And they were put to death by the evil men for their belief in this God of theirs, and yet their deaths did not destroy them but made them stronger, for they knew that their God held dominion even over death and that their deaths were victories in His name. But one day the evil men ceased to persecute the Church, and the Church itself became the head of the government that the evil men built, and the Church itself turned its back on this God of theirs and became as the false holy men of old, with their silly laws and accepting of riches and great praise from men. And the Church became "Christendom", and the world of Christendom grew very dark and very evil, and though there were occasional "reformations" here and there, time and again, the path of Christendom continued to lead those that followed it away from the truth that had been proclaimed by that God of theirs. There arose men that called themselves "theologians" and "scholars" and they made this God the subject of many great theories and they drew many grand conclusions and argued continually over contrived points that had no bearing on anything, and this they continue down to this very hour. And new false holy men then turned Christendom into a great and glorious enterprise and went to work for this business that they dedicated to the name of this God of theirs, and they worry no more about this God, for the theologians and scholars have convinced them that He actually died a few years ago, and that He no longer is the problem that He once was to them and that they may keep their riches and gather the praises of men as they always have, for there is no sense in being paranoid of an empty heaven. And the churchmen, the agents of Christendom, have contrived new and silly laws from the ancient writings as did the holy men of old, and again the world has grown very evil and there are no holy men of God to be found within the land, and the false holy men are growing fatter while those they claim they want to save die all around them. And still there are a few that remain that look at the signs of the times and they say among themselves, "Shortly it will be the time again when the Holy One of God Himself will come and lead us in righteousness and valor." And the false holy men of today laugh and scoff and make fun of this kind of talk, and they call the believers "fundies" and they avoid them as if they carried the plague instead of the Truth of this God of theirs. And those that read the signs of the times tremble at what they see happening all around them, and they quake at the prospect of what is to come, for this God of theirs has come once to prove to all the great and everlasting love that He holds for those that would but follow Him, and when He left to resume His place in eternity He promised them that He would one day return to them. And it has been written from long ages past that when this God of theirs returns it will not merely be to prove His love, bu to establish the reign of His justice upon the earth. And to be sure, these times will be anything but pleasant for those that have led the multitudes astray and have spat in the face of this God of theirs. |
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Gentlemen,
All is Not Well By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
It is most
definitely within the realm of great understatement to claim that these
are indeed strange times in which we find ourselves living. My
grandparents lived in a time when the telephone was a rare oddity, and
could easily remember the advent of such things as automobiles, the
radio, electricity, airplanes, various modes of "modern" warfare, and
much, much more. One summer's night in July of 1969, my
grandmother told us the story of the time she saw her first automobile;
of how awestricken and mystified she and her friends had been as the
rattly-little contraption came chugging and wobbling down the road on
its wooden carriage wheels, bearing the local doctor enroute to a
house-call at a nearby farm. The next afternoon, we all sat
together and watched Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin cavort around on
the surface of the moon. I have often wondered at the thoughts
that must have been passing through that old lady's head as she sat
there encompassing the history of aviation from Kitty Hawk to the moon
- a witness in her own lifetime to all of it.
Not too many years ago, there was great commotion about the so-called "generation gap" that existed between my generation and that of my parents. The main instigation in this turmoil was, of course, the varying interpretations that existed concerning the Viet Nam war and the moral role of the United States within it. To the older "World War II" generation the matter seemed to be centered around the lack of patriotic zeal and sense of duty to country that characterized the younger generation. To the younger generation the matter was not so much the highly touted political idealism that was presented as it was the simple and horrifying feeling that our parents would rather see us dead than admit that their precious government had made a mistake. Fault is not to be attached to either side in this matter. The issue of the war was not the pacifistic youth versus the warmongering older generation, but rather that each of these generations had grown up in totally different worlds. For the younger generation the difference was growing up in a world that had gained possession of perhaps the two most frightening and powerful devices ever conceived by the human mid: television, the ultimate propaganda machine, and the atomic bomb, the ultimate tool of destruction. The older generation had grown up in a world where warfare still consisted of killing one man at a time, where battles were won by bravery and valor and where in the last reel, with the job well done and the powerful enemy checked, the uniformed hero would lay down his gun and embrace the sweetheart that waited for him on the dock, while everyone danced and threw confetti in Times Square. World War II was the last great adventure of Western man, for at its end the reality of the new and awesome Super Weapon would change the world forever. Here was an event that far surpasses in importance such long accepted milestones as the Agricultural and Industrial Revolutions, for at Hiroshima and Nagasaki it became evident that man was now capable of wiping his own kind from the face of the planet. The monstrous fire breathing dragon of the apocalypse raised its head above the horizon and made it plain what a mere puff of his breath could do, and from that time on, though we have tried to convince ourselves that it just isn't true, the fact has rested within the minds of all of us that it is just a matter of time now before the earth becomes nothing more than a mushroom cloud floating around in space. Even the great ace-in-the-hole escape plan known as the Space Program is of little interest to us now, for it is clearly an example of too little too late. It is this world of push button total destruction that spawned my generation, for we grew up knowing that at any possible second the earth might be subjected to the final great holocaust. In the 1960's many fought hard to change this terrifying state of affairs. Now most have given up and are awaiting what is to come in as comfortable a manner as possible. The long haired radicals of a decade ago (yes, it has been that long) have cut their hair and now strut bedecked in their very stylish three-piece suits, driving their imitation wood flanked station wagons to their lovely homes in the suburbs, where the little woman waits with a cold martini, the evening paper, and a full report on the kids' latest journey to the dentist. On Sundays, due to the force of habit and generous tax breaks, they adorn themselves in all their finery and drive to their favorite "house of worship" where they draw together with their peers and pray to the od that they follow that he might keep them psychologically well-balanced and protect their financial interests. The man they go to hear is well trained in telling them just exactly what they want to be told because he has gone to seminary and he has been taught by the instructors of the church that the two things in life that really matter are money and feeling good, and that business must always come before religion if one wishes to be "successful". Yes, the generation gap has been closed. The "World War II" generation and the "Viet Nam" generation have been reconciled by the one force that is common to both: greed. The great and all-American god known as the dollar now rules supreme. The number of these idols that a person is able to accumulate is taken as a measure of his success as a human being. "We deserve professional level salaries", say the churchmen, "Because we are well educated. We have worked hard to get where we are and we demand to be paid accordingly." This makes perfect sense to the members of their congregations, since this is precisely how things are in the "secular world," and so both are content to sit and count their dollars while the rest of the world cries out in agony all around them. "Too bad about the suffering in the world," they all say among themselves, "But after we have taken our share there just isn't enough to do much good." For old and young alike the dollar has become the great opiate. It keeps them secure and deadens their senses to the abominations that continue to plague this old and very sick world of ours. Each night they sit in front of the shrine that contains the magic glowing tube and they are shown (in full color) the wars and told of the rumors of wars. They see in all of their hideous glory the four horsemen of the apocalypse as they prance and spread their fornication from one end of the globe to the other, and they see children starving and men dying, and they see their elected "representatives" bribing and being bribed, and the people on their city streets killing and being killed, and when it is finished they sit at their dining room tables and gorge themselves on the rich foods that they have bought with their precious dollars. And when they are sated, they move back to their places in front of the hypnotic screen and are absorbed into the make-believe world of beautiful women, righteous cops, and an occasional song and dance. Outside in the street there is a shot, a scream, and the sound of a falling body, followed shortly by screaming sirens. Does anyone move to see what has happened or if they can be of help? No. "Why bother?" they say, "We can find out all about it tomorrow at six, and there will be film at eleven!" To be sure, all is not well. The tribulations that have plagued the world since the beginning of history are with us now and are growing ever more ominous by the day. Famine and pestilence ravage vast areas and droughts threaten great regions with the horrifying prospect of even more hunger and disease. Add to these time honored horrors the modern world's ability to overpopulate and pollute and it is obvious that the current situation is indeed most serious - and this is not even taking into account the ever present reality of the nuclear holocaust that lies behind the simple push of an innocent looking button. Yes, the threat and potential of widespread disaster has never been greater than it is at this very moment. And yet the most terrifying threat of all is not that of widespread famine or disease, or of the collapse of Western society pending the depletion of oil reserves, or of the daily threat of nuclear eschaton, but rather the attitude that prevails within this culture of ours. As in the old fable, we have become like the grasshopper that sings and dances in the face of the oncoming winter, while the ant scampers around and prepares for the hard times ahead. When the snows and the great cold come the ant is snug and well fed within his earthen sanctuary, while the grasshopper starves and freezes in the cold. Even a casual glance at the condition of the world shows that there are indeed dire times ahead, and yet when this fact is mentioned the reaction is, "Now, now, don't go playing the prophet of doom to us. We'll think of something just as we always have." In the meanwhile it is, "On with the game and damn the consequences!" It is one thing to stand robed and bearded complete with placard in hand and shout, "Repent, the end is near!" It is quite another to simply gaze at the horizon and observe the storm that has been gathering force and moving closer, while the clouds that it bears grow ever darker and ever more terrifying in their power. And still the grasshoppers sing and dance and scurry around as if there were no tomorrow, the irony of their situation being that this is a distinct possibility. "If we're damned we're damned," they say calmly and with a shrug. "Eat, drink, and be merry," they cry, yet they refuse to finish the sentence, "for tomorrow we die." So the grasshoppers gather on Sundays for what they call "the worship of God" and they listen as another grasshopper, trained especially for the task, stands before them and extols the false virtues that he has been taught at his seminary. He tells them that all will be well as long as their pledges are maintained and he uses his knowledge of psychology to convince them that the role of the church in their lives is to make them feel warm and secure in a world that is on the verge of coming down around their ears. The Scriptures are used sparingly so as not to confuse anyone as to the purpose of the church, and the few that still read the words of Jesus and take heart in their promise are merely endured as the ever present "fundies" that though naive, do at least mean well. And as all of this foolishness goes on they ignore the warnings of the prophets that spoke of a much earlier time in which the people of God turned their backs on Him and faced the consequences. And they ignore the symbolism of the apocalypse and shrug it off as applying only to the supposedly long dead Roman Empire, ignoring the fact that they themselves are the children of Rome and will bear her curse if they continue in her ways. Long ago they were warned by the man that they mockingly call "Master" of the tribulations that come as a thief comes in the night, and as they sit in their seminaries and chuckle and say, "Well now, I wonder what he could have meant," the thief is already at the window, prying at the sash and picking at the lock, and they stand not ready to drive him away, but rather hold out their arms and welcome him into their presence. The blinding flash of the lightening and the deafening crash of the thunder of the tempest that looms tar-black on the horizon grow ever more prominent as they move closer and closer to shattering the false peace that has lulled the grasshoppers into believing that all is well and will continue always to be so. They turn against the teachings of the man they outwardly hold to be the Son of God Himself, and when they read of the consequences for their actions they merely laugh and say "Oh, that has nothing to do with us, if that was going to happen it would have happened long ago. Why, we are good Christians. Our pastor makes more money now than every, and we always pay our pledge on time." And yet the horrors foretold from ages passed howl and screech outside their door, waiting only that the time may be fulfilled that they may be loosed to hurl their vengeance against the fools that have unwittingly invited them into their parlor. The dark and cold of the Great Winter grow ever nearer and yet the foolish grasshoppers continue to pipe and dance as if the future held nothing but endless days of feasting and good fortune. And the scholars, enraged by this kind of flippancy, stand confident with their well researched theories as to why this or that is not the way that it is written, and they are certain that they can "prove" that these events will not transpire because their critical histories and their exegesis tells them that this is so. Yet even the casual onlooker need only glance around at his world to realize that all of these wonderful theories will do them no good when the tribulation is upon them. What will these men of learning do in those days? Will they stand amid the catastrophic climax to the age and speak of why it is impossible for these things to be happening? This prospect is not as unlikely as it seems, for already the signs are upon us and this is precisely what they are doing. |
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The
Abuse Of Scripture By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
The
Bible, that curious old relic
that is employed by the church executive as a means of "sermon
illustration" and is made the subject of great study by those of great
learning, is by and away the most mistreated of all the literature that
claims to be Holy Writ. No other religion has turned as blatantly
against the teachings of its faith than has the tradition that calls
itself by the name of Christ. The scholars, supposed "experts" in
the understanding of the Scriptures, sit for hour upon hour with their
pens poised as blunt scalpels, carving up this passage and dissecting
that passage in the vain attempt to gain more knowledge of what is
written. They cram their heads so full of esoteric bits of
gibberish that the beauty and truth of the message of the text that
they exhume is completely lost to them. Does it matter that
elements of the creation story can be traced back into old Mesopotamian
mythologies, or that the story of Noah and the Ark appears nearly
verbatim in the Old Babylonian account of the Epic of Gilgamish?
Is it not more important to look at what these stories have to say to
human life down to this very day? In the first, the newly born
human race spits in the eye of the Creator that had set them up in
paradise, forcing Him to cast them from His sight, while in the second
this evilness has possessed them to such great extent that the Lord
must destroy the very fruit of His creation, for their wickedness has
consumed them in the passion for the forbidden. Must one know of
J, E, P and D sources or of exegesis or of hermeneutics to understand
these stories? One would think not.
If one would seek to understand the nature of these works, he need only look at the world around him, for day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, these are the themes - the games - by which the men of today live their lives. Sodom and Gomorrah were never destroyed for their spirit lives on and if anything has multiplied itself in the hearts and minds of men. It is this catastrophic disease of the human condition that the Bible speaks to. It shows the depths of despair and deprivation that man, through his lust for the evil and licentious, will inevitably sink to, and at the same time it provides his final hope in the mysterious and awesome figure of the Christ. In the Bible, we see a mirror of ourselves and what we really are - a picture so unpleasant that those who go about the task of its interpretation do so by exalting the mundane and by submerging its important truths in double talk about worthless half-baked theories. The world screams out from its death-bed for the truth, justice, and hope that is contained within the pages of this great work, while the wise men that have been hired to tell them what it means parade about their adornments and speak only of those things that will keep the green idols that they worships flowing into their pockets. They dare not face the truth of God in written, concrete form, for the days of picking up the cross of the Master and following the difficult path of His footsteps have long since passed. The church that calls itself by the name of Christ has nothing whatsoever in common with the ragged little group of followers that stood erect in the face of death with the light of eternity gleaming in their eyes. Today we have a bizarre and twisted Camelot that basks in the glories of the mundane and the earthly while it takes its own pearl of greatest price, the promise of the Scripture, and tramples it underfoot. The sad, sad imitation that stands as descendent of the faith of the Apostles follows not the teachings of Jesus, but rather stands at the foot of His cross, mocking and casting lots for His garments. The truth that is the way of the Christ is not easy to follow. How easy it has been for such a long, long time now to ignore what He really is and to make of Him what they will. What, then, is the nature of the Bible? It is the story of man's existence upon the earth; of his history long struggle with the powers of darkness and of his desperate groping to find his way back into the light. It is a story that begins with man's coming to awareness of who he is and ends with his final destruction. It is a story of great evil and greater goodness that stretches from the beginning to the ceasing of time. It is a story that begins in paradise with the greatest struggle of all time played out upon the rugged and seemingly Godless terrain of the wilderness, and it is a story that tells of the God of love who himself steps down from the very throne of the Cosmos to lead those that are still able to understand His truth onward in the unceasing quest to recover the lost paradise. It is a story that chronicles the ongoing struggle between the forces of good and evil and speaks both to that which is and that which is beyond. It is the story of all stories, for it is as old as creation itself yet begins anew with each rising of the sun. It is not merely the story of a people, but of all people and of a God of all people. It tells of the great paradox of this existence of ours, wherein the God of the Cosmos is born among cattle as a few pounds of wriggling pink flesh and dies at the hands of His own creatures simply for trying to proclaim the truth of their own evil natures. And most of all, it is the story of a time when the truth of all eternity walked among us as a brother, and of how He was tortured, killed, and sealed forever into the earth, only to kick the stone away from the door of His tomb and walk triumphantly out into the crisp morning air of that first Easter, wrapped not in a tattered shroud but in the brilliant light of all eternity. And as the disciples of Jesus whispered in awe to themselves on that most glorious of mornings so do those that still discover the magic of that moment down to this day, saying simply, "It is the Lord." How has it come to pass that those who claim to be the spokesmen for the faith that bears the name of Christ are also those that pay no heed to His words? They have constructed for themselves a facade and have attached to it the name "Christianity;" yet it is a poor facade for their roles show clearly that the disillusioned membership is leaving the church. "It is the times," they say by way of excuse, "Now we must entertain them to keep our pews full so that the collections will pay for our salaries and our homes." And so they hang up posters with cartoons on them, and they read psychology books that tell them that the most important thing in life is simply to feel good all of the time. They talk of a God that means nothing to them save that they make their living by lying in His name, and they parade around as men of great prestige, holding their heads high and praying aloud in public. They love to wear the long, black, and expensive robes of the executive-priest before the gathered masses and to bray their blessings upon the snoring flock, and this they do in full confidence that this is all there is to the matter of being Christian. And though they are alarmed by the exodus of the people from the churches, they are relieved to note that the wealthy and the foolish still remain, the wealthy because they pay the salaries and expenses in the name of the great angel of the God of nothing known as the "tax write-off," and the foolish because these poor souls are unable to see through the abomination that goes on all around them. These great men of learning actually have the gall to stand up and speak the words of Jesus and behave as if they are the experts on the subjects of His teachings, and yet they fail to see the words that He has leveled directly at them. The Pharisees are by no means merely an obscure sect locked away within the annals of ancient Judaism, for they are in evidence all around us. If they have not turned the temple of the church of Christ into a robbers' den, they have at least turned it into a corporation, and in either case it is profiteering in the name of Christ. And yet they can still find it within themselves to stand before their congregations and read the words of Jesus as if they themselves were anything but guilty of the aberrations that He denounces. It is certainly no stretch of the imagination to see that if Jesus were to appear some Sunday within one of these dens of foolishness that He would most likely fashion a whip of cords and drive out the participants in this farcical charade. And when this were done it would also be most likely that today's chief priests and scribes would respond as did those in the temple of Jerusalem - with shock and indignation. And as with those Pharisees of long ago so it is with those of the "Christian" variety today:
And so too does the warning that
Jesus goes on to present to his followers and disciples ring true to
those that would follow His teachings down to this very day:
And so
today the Pharisees of the
church adorn themselves with the broad phylacteries and long fringes of
their clerical garb and so too do they have their committees and make
their grandiose decisions so that they may win great favor in the eyes
of men. And they sit in the seats of honor at the potluck feast
of fools that they hold so that the sheep that they lovingly lead away
from the light may have even more opportunity to hear the precious
wisdom that they spout behind their foolish grins. ANd they stand at
the place of the greatest honor within their own personal synagogues so
that all may sit before them and marvel at the great nothingness that
rolls off of their tongues with the greatest of eloquence. Week
after week they stand at the back of their sanctuaries after the
gathered have ceased their snoring and puff up as great toads as the
hapless sheep pass by and heap their laud and honor upon them; yet this
they do while loudly proclaiming the name of Christ and claiming
themselves to be the harbinger of His message. The words of Jesus
in His lament over Jerusalem echo ever louder through the great stone
chambers of the idolatrous temples that stand in His name:
What is to be done? How can this situation be righted when in this world of ours even those that would have all believe that they are the true spokesmen of the living God instead fall prostrate before the dollar sign, the symbol of the great God of nothing? Is it possible to convince a soul of the true wisdom that is to be found in living in the world but not being of it when being in it is so deceptively comfortable? It is all illusion, for the material wonders of this life, as do the fragile pieces of flesh and blood that we occupy for this short time, are destined to return to the dust from whence they have come. Higher and Higher men have piled their ill-gotten treasures, using them to build insurmountable walls between themselves and the truth, so that now they make the truth precisely what they need it to be so that they may clutch more tightly the foolish material toys that they have cheated, lied, and stolen for. The prophetic cry for justice has grown to an ear piercing scream and still the 'men of God" retreat even farther into their suburban paradise, well fed and growing fatter while the children of God the world over lie night after night on hunger bloated stomachs and scream themselves to sleep. The church that stands in the name of Christ gives these pillars of dignity and community virtue new automobiles and lovely homes in which to live and pay them 'professional level" salaries for telling them the lies that allow them to grow ever more prosperous while the faith that they profess, laid out before them in black and white, is made the subject of mockery. It speaks to them of devils and they laugh, for they no longer even believe in its God. It speaks to them of justice and so they hold rummage sales and give money to the Salvation Army so that they need not foul their lovely edifice with the rabble that are the children of the man that they (in their lighter moments) call "Master." It speaks to them of truth and they choose instead to invent their own because the silver tea service has become tarnished and buying a new one is more important that putting rice and milk into the stomachs of starving children. The Christ of their forgotten Scriptures stares at them from the eyes of the trembling wino that is pushed aside as he begs their coins at the bus-stop, and from the empty faces that crowd behind the bars of every prison in the world, and from the eyes of every soul that hungers, thirsts, or is in pain. They half-heartedly call upon His name to save them and they sing his praises in either psuedo-somber monotones or foolishly contrived folk music, and all the time they are lining up and taking turns at driving the nails ever deeper into His battered flesh. They no longer believe in any kind of judgment, for the God of nothing stands at the eternal door with the flaming sword of judgment, but with a tarnished bag of gold, beckoning them not to enter but to stay where they are and to eat, drink, and be merry, for he teaches them that there is nothing ahead but endless days of false good cheer. And on the other side of the eternal door, the door of narrow passage where many may knock but few enter, the one Truth of all eternity stands issuing the call to truth and justice that He has proclaimed for lo these many ages, and yet His simple call falls upon ears that have been deafened by the blaring horns and blasting trumpets of the earthly revelry which has deadened their sense to any feeling but their own. Yet it has been written and proclaimed from ages passed that all must one day stand before the throne of their Creator and make account for their misdeeds. The blissful escape of sleep within the grave that the God of nothing has convinced them of is not to be, for it too is an illusion as surely as the earthly powers are with which he have tempted and perverted them. And on that Last Great Day of Days, when the humble are exalted, the few that have made themselves as children will stand proudly along side of their God of Truth and mourn with Him over the loss of the great multitudes. And those that have skipped so carelessly after the much beloved God of nothing, with their arrogant and haughty demeanor, will find that this God of theirs is all too real, and he will stand before them and shriek in laughter at the foolish choices that they have made. And a tear will drop from the eye of the Christ as He beholds His fallen children and recites to them His words of long ago: " 'We piped and you did not dance; we wailed and you did not mourn.' " ( Matthew 11:17) "Well now", say the churchmen and the academicians, "what kind of foolishness is this? Have we not made these things the subject of great and in-depth study? Have we not proven with our theologies and histories that these kinds of images are merely the work of primitive minds, that there is but one means of understanding this world of ours and that is with the five sense? Are we to endure young fools with high-stepping ideas that paint such ridiculous portraits of words and prose with no scientific "facts" to back up what they say? Why, our experience of the deity must be mediated through the corruption and filth that has become the human condition. Revelation has not occurred for thousands of years, and at that it most certainly must have a rational explanation, just as such primitive concepts as resurrection and incarnation came about because the poor, dear fools of the time had not the great knowledge that we so smugly possess. Theology, yes theology, is the answer today! Look what we can do with our theology! Up, God, through the hoop! Now roll over and play dead! What fun! This is surely how we will solve all the problems of this nasty old world." And yet the world they are saving sinks more into decay and depravation each day, while they design their paltry little social programs and call them "mission" so that the rich can sleep at night, well-fed in a starving world. They delude themselves with biased statistics into thinking that things are getting better when it is a fact that more people will starve in this world this year than did last. They take up offerings of coins and use it to buy gruel to feed a handful of starving children then stuff themselves to the point of bursting on foods so rich that they destroy their hearts and put them in early graves. And this great theology of theirs tells them that this is all right -- not ideal to be sure -- but all right, when in reality this great theology of theirs has become nothing more than an illusionary scapegoat, leading all that follow its foolishly contrived claptrap farther and farther away from the light that to this day shines forth as a beacon from the ancient writings of the Christian faith. Yes, that which calls itself Christianity finds itself in a most sorry state, a state which does indeed appear quite hopeless. |
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The
Census Of Babylon By Philip D. Ropp November, 1977 |
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