Days of Awe and Wonder
Page 1
DEDICATION
In love for Marcus and dedicated
to the unending conversation
In gratitude for
Mickey Maudlin, Anna Paustenbach,
Mark Tauber, and Barbara Brown Taylor
CONTENTS
Dedication
Foreword by Marianne Borg
1. Listening to the Spirit
2. Faith: A Journey of Trust
3. My Conversion to Mysticism
4. Jesus, Our Model for Being Spirit-Filled
5. Reclaiming Mysticism
6. Awe, Wonder, and Jesus
7. Is Jesus God?
8. Taking Jesus Seriously: Mystic, Wisdom Teacher, Social Prophet
9. Stand with Jesus
10. Renewing Our Image of Jesus
11. Healing Our Image of God
12. Living God’s Passion
13. Facing Today’s Challenges: An Interview
14. The Heart and Soul of Christianity
15. Encountering the Wisdom of Other Faiths
16. Listening for the Voice of God
Afterword by Barbara Brown Taylor
Notes
Scripture Index
About the Author
Also by Marcus J. Borg
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Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Foreword
by Marianne Borg
For as long as there have been Christians, there has been considerable debate about what it means to be a Christian. From the authority of the Bible and the believability of its stories, to the meaning of Jesus, to what difference Christianity really makes, essential Christian ideas have evolved and been interpreted in various ways.
Yet the twenty-first century has seen even more dramatic change for Christianity. Old assumptions about and images of God no longer hold. Christianity is no longer considered essential for “salvation.” It no longer provides an unambiguous moral compass. And the United States, “a Christian country,” is now the most religiously diverse country in the world. As W. B. Yeats wrote in “Second Coming,” we are in a post-Christian era; and what “rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born.”
So just how important is Christianity to the twenty-first century? What does it mean to follow Jesus across terrain that is both trampled and uncharted? Does being Christian really matter anymore?
I suggest the angst among many Christians and the increasing number of “nones” on the religious affiliation line is good news. And it couldn’t come at a more opportune time.
As poet Yehuda Amichai writes:
From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the spring.
The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard,
but doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plow.
Our doubts and loves are shaking our foundations, readying the ground for new life. Christianity is being born again.
Marcus Borg’s journey reveals the fruit and labor of doubts and loves. In this collection of thoughts and ideas taken from a diversity of sources, from his dissertation written at age twenty-seven to his final book written at age seventy, you will find a companion for your doubts and loves. And you may just discover what it means to be a Christian in the twenty-first century.
A quick word about Marcus. Marcus was asked to preach on a Sunday morning as part of a lecture weekend. A children’s sermon preceding Marcus’s featured two darling dog puppets. To introduce Marcus to their young audience, one puppet exclaimed how excited he was to hear him speak. The other dog puppet paused and then shyly asked, “Who is Marcus Borg?”
Some of you know of Marcus Borg. Others of you are like the pup. Who is Marcus Borg? He is arguably one of the clearest, most accessible, insightful Jesus scholars and voices for Christianity in this century. He addressed many of our current questions and helped us fall in love with Christianity again, as if for the first time.
This volume is an opportunity to meet Marcus. For some, it will be a chance to read Marcus again as if for the first time, and for others it will truly be for the first time.
I want to identify a few themes that await you in this book. “The purpose of a book,” suggests Thomas Merton, “is to teach you how to think and not to do your thinking for you. . . . As soon as any thought stimulates your mind or your heart, you can put the book down, because your meditation has begun.” And, may I add, then pick this book up again. May it stimulate your mind and your heart.
First, there is a “more.” Given all of life’s ambiguities and the reality of impermanence and suffering, our existence is remarkable, wondrous. It evokes awe and amazement. We need to pay attention. Really pay attention. Lest we become blind to the awe and wonder that fills our days.
Second, Jesus is significant. Then and now. Because he is one of us. He is the embodiment of human possibility. He shows us our capacity for “knowing God,” our capacity for courage, loving-kindness, and doing justice. This is hopeful.
Third, context matters. The first-century world was fraught with economic injustices, oppressive social and political structures, and claims of monopoly on God. Jesus was deeply affected and concerned about the sufferings and inequities of his day. So much so that he dedicated his entire life to the welfare of others. Jesus was equally concerned that we come to realize the nature of and the Reality that is God. In us. For us. Beyond us. Our lives depend upon it. How are we to respond to the complexities of the context of our lives? What is real? How, then, shall we live?
Fourth, there is “a way” of life that is sustainable. In brief, it is the way of compassion. Compassion is at the heart of all the great religious traditions. Each tradition is like a prism or a lens that gives us a distinctive perspective. We see only in part. Together we can find the way. The lens of Christianity, clarified and refracted in the work of these pages, is a way of seeing that commands compassion, love of this wondrous life and all humanity, of all things seen and unseen, and the unceasing work for peace and justice. Jesus has been described as the face of God turned toward us. We see not only God in his life and even death; we see ourselves. We are given disclosures of “the way.” A lot to ponder.
Every age should think of itself as the “axial age,” the pivotal time. Ours is no exception. We have unprecedented realms of knowledge and information at our disposal, medical advances, scientific discoveries, including the ubiquitous neutrino, the superhero of the subatomic particle world that prefers matter over antimatter. This is hopeful. Ours is a time of awe and wonder of a magnitude not known before.
A cautionary note: we also have an unprecedented capacity for self-destruction, not only of humanity, but also of the planet. The stakes have never been higher. What we do now matters.
And here I return to Christianity. Why be a Christian in the twenty-first century? Because it gives us a vision. And a hope. And a way. The language of the New Testament talks about the “kingdom of God.” Which is here, now. Which is what this world would be like if God was king and Caesar was not. The vision of Christianity for a just, sane, nonviolent world is not utopian. It is within our capacity. And such capacity requires that we take up the crucible of transformation. Transformation, individually and collectively, is the key ingredient for liberation. Without our participation in transformation and embodying lives of compassion, the kingdom of God will not come. It is up to us, and we are not alone.
This volume will explore these themes and others. May the discoveries here give us hope, like flowers in the spring that emerge from a season that looks to some like death. Marcus
Borg’s doubts and loves plowed ground. His life and work led him to rediscover the heart of Christianity. For himself, and for us. With new eyes and, yes, a new heart, being Christian in the twenty-first century can make the world a better place.
As a benediction, I close with this passage from the Jewish Sabbath Prayer Book:
Days pass, and the years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles. Fill our eyes with seeing and our minds with knowing. Let there be moments when your Presence, like lightning, illumines the darkness in which we walk. Help us to see, wherever we gaze, that the bush burns, unconsumed. And we, clay touched by God, will reach out for holiness and exclaim in wonder, “How filled with awe is this place . . .”
Marianne Borg
The Transfiguration
The Last Sunday in
Epiphany, 2017
Become part of the unending conversation.
The Marcus J. Borg Foundation, Inc.
www.marcusjborgfoundation.org
Chapter 1
Listening to the Spirit
WHEN I WAS A YOUNG TEACHER in my mid-twenties, an older colleague delighted in characterizing modern theology as “flat-tire” theology: “All of the pneuma has gone out of it.” The irony of his comment depended on the double meaning of pneuma, a Greek word meaning both “air” and “spirit.”1 I understood his point, but I wasn’t sure I agreed with it. For me, modern theology was a joy: insightful, challenging, liberating.
Though I still see modern theology as a treasure of great value for both church and culture, I also see that my colleague’s statement was (and is) largely correct, not only about theology in general, but also about biblical scholarship and historical Jesus studies in particular.2 Within scholarly circles, Jesus’s relationship to the world of Spirit is seldom taken seriously.3 Attention is directed to what he said, and sometimes even to what he did, but seldom is attention paid to what he was.
What Jesus was, historically speaking, was a Spirit-filled person in the charismatic stream of Judaism. This is the key to understanding what he was like as a historical figure. In an important sense, all that he was, taught, and did flowed out of his own intimate experience of the “world of Spirit.”
The “World of Spirit”
The notion of a “world of Spirit” is a vague and difficult notion in the contemporary world. By it I mean another dimension or layer or level of reality in addition to the visible world of our ordinary experience. This notion of “another world,” understood as actual even though nonmaterial, is quite alien to the modern way of thinking. The modern worldview, or “picture of reality,” sees reality as having essentially one dimension, the visible and material realm.4 Deeply ingrained in all of us who have grown up in modern Western culture, this worldview makes us skeptical about another reality. For most contemporary people, believing in another reality requires “faith,” understood as affirming that which on other grounds is doubtful.5 The “world of Spirit” is not part of our taken-for-granted understanding of reality, not part of our worldview.
But the notion of another reality, a world of Spirit, was the common property of virtually every culture before ours, constituting what has been called the “primordial tradition.”6 Appearing in a multiplicity of cultural forms, indeed in virtually as many forms as there are cultures, it was almost a “cultural universal,” the “human unanimity” prior to the modern period. Essential to it are two claims.
First, in addition to the visible material world disclosed to us by ordinary sense perception (and modern science), there is another level of reality, a second world of nonmaterial reality, charged with energy and power. This basic division of reality into two levels can be spoken of in many ways—as the sacred and the profane, the holy (or “numinous”) and the mundane, God and “this world,” and so forth.7 What is most important is the notion of another level or levels of reality rather than any particular set of terms. Moreover, the “other world”—the world of Spirit—is seen as “more” real than “this world.” Indeed, the “other reality” is the source or ground of “this world.”
Second, and very important, the “other world” is not simply an article of belief, but an element of experience. That is, the notion of another reality does not have its origin in prescientific speculation about the origin of things, primal anxiety about death, or the need for protection, but is grounded in the religious experience of humankind.8 It is not merely believed in, but known.
To put this second claim somewhat differently, the world of Spirit and the world of ordinary experience are seen as not completely separate, but as intersecting at a number of points.9 Many cultures speak of a particular place as the “navel of the earth,” the umbilical cord connecting the two worlds.10 Some cultures speak of the two worlds intersecting in particular historical events. But it is especially in the experience of individuals that the “other world” is known. In every culture known to us, there are men and women who experience union or communion with the world of Spirit, either “entering” it or experiencing it coming upon them. Those who experience it frequently and vividly often become mediators between the two worlds in a variety of cultural forms: as healers, prophets, lawgivers, shamans, mystics. Such men and women are charismatics in the proper sense of the word: people who know the world of Spirit firsthand.
The Primordial Tradition in the Biblical Tradition
The cultural tradition in which Jesus lived took for granted the central claims of the primordial tradition: there are minimally two worlds, and the other world can be known. At the heart of the Jewish tradition, indeed constituting it, was Israel’s story of the intersection between the world of Spirit and the world of ordinary experience. That is what Israel’s scriptures were about. The Hebrew Bible is Israel’s story of events that were seen as disclosures of Spirit, of people who were experienced as mediators of Spirit, of laws and prophetic utterances believed to have been given by the Spirit.
This multilayered picture of reality runs throughout the Bible. The opening verse of Genesis portrays the visible world as having its origin in Spirit, in God: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Importantly, Spirit is not seen as abstract and remote, as a hypothetical first cause.11 Rather, the world of Spirit is seen as alive and “personal,” populated by a variety of beings: angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim. At its center (or height or depth) is God, often spoken of as personal: as father, mother, king, shepherd, lover. Nonanthropomorphic terms can also be used: fire, light, Spirit.
It is difficult to know how literally we should take this language. Language about the “other world” is necessarily metaphorical and analogical, simply because we must use language drawn from the visible world to try to speak of another world constituted by very different realities and energies. If anything is to be communicated at all, it must be by analogy to what we know in the ordinary world or in images drawn from the ordinary world. Thus God is like a father or mother, like a king, like a shepherd, like fire; but God is not literally any of these things. Yet, though the language is metaphorical, the realities are not.
Moreover, this other world is not literally somewhere else. It is not the localized heaven of the popular imagination. Though God can be spoken of as a being “up in heaven,” the tradition makes it clear that God and the world of Spirit are not literally elsewhere. Rather, according to the tradition, God is everywhere present. To use somewhat technical but useful theological language, for the biblical tradition God is immanent (everywhere present, omnipresent), even as God is also transcendent (not to be identified with any particular thing, not even with the sum total of things). As omnipresent and immanent, God and the world of Spirit are all around us, including within us. Rather than God being somewhere else, we (and everything that is) are in God.12 We live in Spirit, even though we are typically unaware of this reality.13
Biblical Mediators Between the Two Worlds
Israel affirmed that the world of Spirit was known. It intersected with “this world” at man
y points: historically, especially in the exodus and the return from exile, though also in other central events of its history; culticly, in the Temple in Jerusalem, which was seen as the navel of the earth connecting this world to the other world, which was its source; and personally, in the devotional and spiritual experiences of ordinary people and especially in Spirit-filled mediators such as Moses and the prophets. It is this tradition of Spirit-filled mediators that is most significant for understanding the historical Jesus.
From start to end, the Bible is dominated by such figures, beginning with the Genesis stories of the patriarchs, the “fathers” of Israel. Abraham saw visions and entertained heavenly visitors. Jacob had a vision of a fiery ladder connecting the two worlds, with angels ascending and descending on it. Afterwards he exclaimed, “This is the gate of heaven”—that is, the doorway into the other world (Gen. 28:17).14 In the last book of the Bible, the vision of John begins with a similar image: “After this I looked, and there in heaven a door stood open!” (Rev. 4:1).15 What is true of the beginning and end of the Bible is also true of its great figures throughout the tradition.
The first five books of the Bible (the Pentateuch) center on Moses, the main human figure of Israel’s history, indeed its “founder.” According to the brief obituary at the end of Deuteronomy, he knew God “face to face.” According to Exodus, he repeatedly ascended the mountain of God (symbolizing the connection between the two worlds?) and there was given the words he imparted to his followers as “divine law.” On one occasion after coming down from the mountain, we are told, his face actually glowed with the radiance of the holy, which he had encountered (Exod. 34:29–35). Throughout the Pentateuch, Moses functions as a mediator between the two worlds: as divine lawgiver, as channel of power from the world of Spirit, and as intercessor on behalf of his people (Exod. 32:7–14; Num. 14:13–19).
The experience of the other world and the role of mediation are also central to the prophets, including Elijah, as well as the classical prophets. Though a much more shadowy figure than Moses, Elijah was one of the central heroes of the Jewish tradition. Like Moses, he was frequently in the wilderness and sojourned to the sacred mountain, where he also experienced a theophany (an experience of God or “the holy”). Even as the stories about him emphasize the issues of social justice and loyalty to God that characterize the later prophets, he is also clearly portrayed as a “man of Spirit”: he traveled “in the Spirit” and was a channel for the power of Spirit as both a healer and rainmaker. At the end of his life he was carried into the other world by “chariots of fire.”16