Whimsical Theology I: The humanity of Jesus

Incarnation at Ease:  Thoughts on bread, beer, and John Prine’s “Everybody”

By Allan Roy Andrews

          An anonymous 20^th-century devotional writer, reflecting on Jesus’ proclamation in the gospel of John that He is the “bread of life” (John 6:35), casually asserts that bread is “the most basic food there is.”

          Without challenging the historical and liturgical implications of Christianity’s prayer for our daily bread or the cultural significance of bread as a fundamental and necessary sustenance of life (as in prisoners, the hungry, and the fasting staying alive on bread and water alone), I wonder about putting bread in this exalted position.

          After all, aren’t the basic ingredients of bread the same as, or at least similar to, those that go into the making of beer?

          What would it do to our theology—especially our view of the Incarnation—if Jesus had proclaimed, “I am the beer of life!”?

          Many, from Martin Luther to Brennan Manning, would rejoice at such a seeming earthy assertion.  This notion implies we might meet the savior as easily in a local pub as in a church sanctuary:  What a drinking buddy we have in Jesus!

          Sure the notion is a bit whimsical, but not, I think, without merit.  Our attempts to understand how God could become a man (pitching his bodily tent among us) must allow that being fully human might mean drinking beer as well as eating bread with us (and would allow us to give thanks for our daily grains in all their forms).

          Such thoughts form what I like to think of as whimsical theology, and one of my favorite proponents of this thinking is the singer and songwriter John Prine.  Consider Prine’s encounter with Jesus in the lyrics of his song, “Everybody.”

         

While out sailing on the ocean;

While out sailing on the sea;

I bumped into the Savior,

And He said, "Pardon me."

I said, "Jesus, you look tired."

He said, "Jesus, so do you;

Oh, sit down son

'Cause I got some fat to chew."

Chorus:

Well, he spoke to me of morality,

Starvation, pain and sin.

Matter of fact, the whole dang time

I only got a few words in.

But I won`t squawk--

Let `im talk--Hell, it`s been a long, long time,

And any friend that`s been turned down

Is bound to be a friend of mine.

Chorus:

Now we sat there for an hour or two

Just eatin' that gospel pie,

When around the bend come a terrible wind,

And lightning lit the sky.

He said, "So long, Son, I gotta run;

I appreciate you listenin' to me."

And I believe I heard him sing these words

As he skipped out across the sea.

Chorus:

See, everybody needs somebody that they can talk to,

Someone to open up their ears

And let that trouble through.

Now you don`t have to sympathize

Or care what they may do,

But everybody needs somebody that they can talk to.

Everybody needs somebody that they can talk to.

Lyrics ©1972 John Prine

           I'll drink to that!  Just remember:  One cannot live by beer alone.     

Ease and Worship: A Gleaning

Ease and Sabbath: 

Gleaning from Crossan’s God and Empire

By Allan Roy Andrews

                Faith at ease, an idea I seek to communicate in these entries, is teased out wonderfully in John Dominic Crossan’s book, God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome Then and Now (HarperOne, 2007).

                The book is Crossan’s reasoned apologetic for justice and against violence, much of it built on the ambiguities of Jesus’ way and the unambiguous errors of power.

                I’m not certain I buy into Crossan’s largely demythologized interpretations of the historical Jesus, but along the way he emphasizes a wonderful Creation exegesis that lays a fundamental case for a faith at ease.

                Here’s Crossan’s powerful argument:

                In the Genesis Creation narrative, God blesses and hallows the seventh day, Crossan notes.  Importantly, this blessing is surrounded with the assertion that God “rested from all the work he had done.”  Genesis 2:2-3 hammers home this announcement of God’s resting by relating it three times.

                Humanity is created on the sixth day and given dominion over the heretofore created order.  However, as Crossan astutely points out, the culmination of Creation does not come with the making of man and woman.  Instead, the creation of Sabbath rest is the acme of the Creation narrative.

                “It is not humanity on the sixth day but the Sabbath on the seventh day that is the climax of creation,” Crossan writes.  “And therefore our ‘dominion’ over the world is not ownership but stewardship under the God of the Sabbath” (God and Empire, 53).

                The powerful lesson of the story, Crossan underscores, is that “The Sabbath Day was not rest for worship but rest as worship” (God and Empire, 54).

                This is from where a faith at ease draws its inspiration and strength:  rest as worship.

                Martin Luther, in his writings if not in his actions, sought to underscore this emphasis by insisting salvation and justification rest on faith and not on deeds.  I think if we drill deep enough we can conclude that any general resistance to Luther’s stand will disclose itself as being built on a conviction and claim that such a faith is too easy.

                You mean, the argument flows, there is nothing for me to do?

                Crossan helps us see that ease and worship are precisely the point.  Be at leisure and know I am God.

                Of course, once I grasp this, I have plenty to do.