Why Christians need Charles Darwin

At the Carnegie Science Center there is a display featuring an actor who plays Charles Darwin.  You can click on a variety of questions concerning his theories of biological evolution.  One of those questions is “How do religions respond to your theories?”  Darwin’s response is, “No organized religion accepts my theories.”  I assume Darwin is speaking from his perspective in the 19th century.  He even mentions an Episcopalian Minister who was disciplined by his tradition for considering evolution.  "Isn't that ridiculous?"  asked Darwin.

The landscaped has changed some in the 21st century.  Biological evolution is certainly not embraced by all Christian traditions (take the CreationMuseum as an example), but thanks to developments in biblical studies and scientific literacy many traditions have come to accept it.  Is it really the role of religious institutions to “accept” or “reject” scientific theories and discoveries?  Well that’s a bit more complicated isn’t it?  Theology is done by people who, whether they admit it or not, have some scientific assumptions.  We could go on to list all of the other assumptions: social, psychological, historical, political, etc. This is why the accounts of creation from Genesis speak nonchalantly about the water in the dome of the sky which also contained the moon and the sun.  The author(s) were simply framing their theology within the scientific perspective of their day.  It’s what we do!  It is the role of science to observe the universe and help explain how it all works.  It is the task of theology to help understand what that says about the universe, God, and us humans.  We may enjoy an entire post on a helpful way to read the creation accounts.  Let’s save it; we can’t have all the fun in one day can we?

"Do you mean the bible isn’t true? Do you mean that science is more important than faith?  Don’t you believe in divine revelation?" Woah woah, calm down.  Let’s not jump to rash conclusions.  Rash conclusions should be reserved for the previous post “The Bridge.”

Take as an example the Catholic Church’s careful positioning to evolution and faith.  Pius XII in 1950 said that evolution and Christian faith are not incongruent (Humani Generis). In 1996 John Paul II explained that scientific truth would not contradict religious truth.  There have been some qualifications between the truth of evolution and the evolutionism mindset.  These are important distinctions which we can explore later, but for now I’m trying to build up to something!  Here is what I think is remarkable:  The Church insists that scientists should do their jobs, and do them well.  The more science discovers about the universe the more science will discover about God.  To reference Augustine, all truth is God’s truth. I should mention my good friend who, the more he studies science, the more he is in awe of God.  You go scientists! I commend you to your vocations.

Theologians, and religious institutions, I also commend you to your vocations.  The issue between science and theology is not an issue of belief, values, or quality of data (empirical vs emotional).  Both are disciplines that have a place in the academy.  It is simply that the sources and scope of their observation and reflection are different.  Scientists out there may weigh in on this, but I would suggest that the source for scientific observation is nothing less that the universe, and also theories about the universe.  The scope of science is to observe, hypothesis, categorize, and make connections that lead to new observation. 

Theology also deals with the universe, but in a different way.  David Tracy speaks of religious language as "limit language."  We have probably all had a limit experience.  It was an experience so complex, so profound, that it reaches the very limits of our own articulation.  The first views from the Hubble Telescope may have evoked such a sense of wonder that the scientists may have proclaimed, "awesome."  But "awesome" only eluded to the grandeur of the experience.  It is there at the limit experience of the universe that theology resides.  I suggest (taking leads from Tracy) that the sources for theology are the universe, human experience, and religious narratives (which in most cases are considered Divine Revelation).  The scope of theology is reflection on the human experience of the divine--reflection on significance, meaning, truth, and activity.

What I hope to have shown is that theology and science are not at odds, but rather have two different tasks.  A religious person can do great science, and a scientific person can do great theology. You will also notice that theology is dependent on science.  Wait a minute, what?  I'll say it again, theology is dependent on science.  If the universe and the human experience of the universe is a source for theology (as I argued it was) than theology needs to know what science says about the universe!  How can I reflect on the meaning of the universe if I have an inaccurate understanding of the universe?  The inverse is not the case.  Science does not depend on theology as a source.  Theological reflection is not a source for science.   Do not misunderstand, scientists may be motivated by faith, persevere because of faith, and find meaning through their work.  Scientific method, ethics, and funding may be informed by theology, but science is not observation on theological reflection.  The universe is a source. 

Christians need Charles Darwin because Charles Darwin was a scientist!  His theories, though incomplete and in need of further elaboration, have led to a greater understanding of species.  Darwin helped to uncover further knowledge about the universe, and human origins.  Christians need Darwin because the science that has continued because of his work is a source for theological reflection.

If biological evolution is the accepted explanation of the origin of life, how does this inform theology?  We have finally arrived at an interesting book by Denis Edwards called Ecology at the Heart of Faith.  Edwards is an Ecological Ethicist (to break it down: Ecology-the study of interactions between organic systems.  You see how it’s interested in the environment?  Ethics- The study of right living.  Thanks for bearing with my oversimplifications).  In his book, he took seriously contemporary scientific discovery and applied it to themes of systematic theology, only to later bring it back to ecology.  This will warrant its own post, so for now I leave you with questions to ponder (and of course to comment upon):

1.       What does the Big Bang say about our interconnectedness to the entire universe?

2.       If humans emerged from biological evolution, what does it say about humanity and our origins? How about the Image of God?  Or for those who like a challenge: the Incarnation? What?!

3.       How does the current cosmology (theory about the universe) inform an eschatology (theology about the end of all things)?

4.       Lastly, what are some limitations of these theories in informing theology?  I hope you enjoy!

How to Become Greater than the Greatest

I love how gnarly John the Baptist always looks in art!

My very good friend, Branon, called me to talk about John the Baptist and Jesus.  What a wild relationship they must have had.  Cousins who grew up together, shared the same dedication to the Law of God, and anxiously anticipated the Kingdom of God brought by the Messiah.   At the end of life, from King Herod’s prison cell, John sent disciples to Jesus to ask if he is the one they’ve been waiting for.  You can read about this in Luke 7:18-33.  Jesus’ answer is short and like many other sayings of Jesus—it sounds like it avoids the question.  What Jesus really does, is reframe the question to carefully reveal the Kingdom of God.  Jesus answers in vv 22, 23, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”

Branon pointed out that Jesus was referencing Isaiah 61 in which the Messiah (the Hebrew anointed one) described the mission for which he was anointed.  At the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus stood in the synagogue to read from Isaiah 61.  With boldness he finished his reading, rolled up the scroll and said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled.”  (Lk 4:21).  What sort of Messiah would Jesus be?  He began his ministry by pointing toward the Anointed One of Isaiah 61.  When asked by John’s disciples, Jesus recalled the work he had done as a witness to his anointedness.

Branon also keenly noticed that in Jesus’ reply to John’s disciples he left out a segment of Isaiah 61:  “To proclaim liberty to the captives.”  If there was a part of the Messiah’s job description that was most relevant  for John, it was the release of prisoners!  Why did Jesus leave that part out when it is precisely that work that would ease John’s troubled mind?  For another thing, why didn’t Jesus start this part of his ministry by setting John free?

We were sensitive to John’s questioning if Jesus was the Messiah.  We thought if we had lived a life like John’s we would also have an end of life crisis.  He spent his adult life on the margin of society—living in the desert, wearing camel hair clothes, and eating locusts and honey.  Just before Jesus came on the scene, he started acting much like a prophet.  The problem with being a prophet is that speaking the word of the Lord usually results in people hating you and wanting to take your life.  In one episode near the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, while John was baptizing people, the baptizer stopped what he was doing to point and say, “Look, the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”  With confidence John witnessed to Jesus.  At the end of his life, John sat in a prison for calling out the angry King Herod.   With time to look back at his life he must have wondered if it was worth it.  Were all of his efforts to prepare the way of the Lord worth it?  Did he spend his life on the wrong person?  Was Jesus the Messiah?  If so, his life was well spent.  If not...

Another phrase from Isaiah 61 that was missing from Jesus’ response to John’s disciples was “To bind the broken heart.”  Certainly in the midst of an existential end of life crisis, John’s heart would be mended to hear the words from Jesus.  Jesus assured him that he was the Messiah.  John could suffer in peace knowing that his life had meaning.

Still, what is with this omitted “release for the captives?”  While Jesus’ ministry was full of amazing miracles, he did not release people from prison walls (especially not John).  The activity of the first disciples involved dramatic jail breaks, but not Jesus’ life.  Yet as I look back at the significance of some of Jesus’ miracles, prisoners were released.  Think of Mary Magdalene who lived a life imprisoned by social stigma, shame, and objectification.  Her encounter with Jesus set her free.  Or the lepers who after their encounter with Jesus were free to re-enter society.  Think of Zacchaeus and Matthew whose greed kept them bound to be hated by their fellow citizens.  To spiritualize this “release of the prisoner” even more, the Christian tradition insists that in the Resurrection Jesus broke the chains of sin and death.

Check out the busted chains and locks.  Talk about release for the prisoner.

 Prison walls were never broken, and justice systems were never corrected.  The rioter and murderer, Barabbas, went free while the Anointed One was punished.  John the Baptist was imprisoned and eventually beheaded while Herod lived in luxury. 

It was not for lack of love that Jesus did not release John from prison.  For in Luke 7 he spoke highly of him as a prophet of God, and even said in v 28 “I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John.”  Excellent right?  Well Jesus didn’t even stop for a breath before continuing: “I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John; yet the one who is least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.”  The one who is least in the Kingdom is actually greater than the greatest?  Jesus must have been carefully revealing the kingdom again.

We see at the end, Jesus spells out the impossible situation the cousins found themselves in.  They said of John that he didn’t eat or drink wine so he must be possessed by a demon.  They said of Jesus that he did eat and drink wine so he must be a drunkard.  They were both rejected simply because they spoke of a backward Kingdom of God that was subversive to all the power structures.  To be part of the Kingdom of God does not result in a life of luxury, but a life like John’s or Jesus’.  It may be filled with faithfulness and love, but it will also result in suffering and in their cases, death.  Could John have been released from prison and saved? Sure.  Could Jesus have been released and saved?  Sure.  But the Kingdom is such that suffering is salvation.  John found the meaning of his life through suffering.  Jesus brought about the salvation of the world through his suffering. Suffering is not only a natural result from living Kingdom values, it is essential to Kingdom life.  Luke wrote about this incident to a suffering church.  In the midst of persecution a life of suffering needs meaning.  Who is greater than the greatest in the Kingdom?  The least.  The more one suffers, the greater one becomes in the Kingdom of God.

The Crisis of Apostolic Succession

To some of my readers this may sound like a moment to sound the alarms, grab the heretic stick, and call your bishop.  Others may be altogether disinterested in this post because their religious tradition has no notion of apostolic succession, and the fact that it is in “crisis” is quite mundane.   I hope the panicked will be calmed, and the disinterested will become engaged.  Oh the hopes and dreams of a blogger!

Apostolic succession (at least in the Roman Catholic Church) has been used to make all sorts of claims through history.  These days folks are interested to say that our Catholic Bishops are the direct successors of Jesus’ apostles.  This use of apostolic succession is applied either apologetically, authoritatively, or comfortingly.  An example of the apologetic approach would be when in an inter-denominational conversation, a Catholic may say to her Baptist friend, “I understand your interpretation of Ephesians 2:8, but the Catholic Church reads it this way, and our bishops go back to the Apostles.”  Thus the apologetic approach says, “Our bishops go back to the apostles, so we have the authentic interpretation of Scripture, tradition, liturgy, etc.”  The authoritative approach is used when a priest, bishop, or even lay person says, “You know, the bishops are the successors of the apostles, so when we say that you should oppose the health care reform, you should.”  Or “I understand the quality of research from this theologian, but the bishops are the successors of the apostles, so we should listen to them instead.” It is used to claim authority for the bishops.  The comforting approach can be exemplified from a conversation I had one time about ecumenical councils.  Two different views of Jesus were at stake at the First Council of Nicaea.  The “orthodox” perspective defeated Arius’ perspective.  A friend asked, “What if Arius’ perspective was right, but the “orthodox” perspective was simply more powerful?”   The comforting approach would say, “Perhaps, but we need not fear because the bishops as the successors of the apostles guarantee that the truth about Jesus was conveyed through history.”  The comforting approach gives some sense of assurance that we still have an accurate picture of Jesus and his teachings.

What are some of the assumptions about this view of apostolic succession?  Seriously, think about it.  Here are some:

1.  Bishops can trace their ordination in an unbroken line back to the Apostles.

2.  Jesus intended in his earthly life to not only send out apostles, but to ordain bishops.

3.  In ordaining bishops, he also specifically defined the role, function, and authority of the bishops.

4.  The Church has therefore uniformly practiced this same ordination and function throughout history.

Jesus ordaining the Apostles

  This is the perspective of the Catechism and the Vatican II document Lumen Gentium.  Kenan Osborne in a book Orders and Ministry explores some of the historical data from the early centuries of the Church and paints a picture that is a bit different than the above, idealistic view.

Had Jesus ordained bishops, we would expect there to be a uniformity of terms and practice in the early Church.  Even the New Testament witness lacks this expected uniformity.  This is where folks whose tradition does not include apostolic succession may want to pay attention.  The New Testament has language for MANY different roles in a church community.  Among them would be episkapos (these days translated as Bishops although this is problematic), presbyteros (sometimes understood as pastor or elder), diakanos, prophet, apostle, priests, and so forth.  None of these roles were defined exhaustively, nor were they held up as normative for all Christian communities.  So where does the “biblical” or historical basis for pastors, or bishops come from?

  

(160-225)

Tertullian (ca. 160-225ca.) used the term “order” for groups within the Christian community in Carthage.  He adapted structures from the social and political orders to order the Christian community.  Another early instance of a specific ordering of a Christian community was in Apostolic Tradition from about the year 200 in the community in Rome.  In this document, the ritual for ordaining episkopoi, presbyteroi, and diakanoi, is described, but their functions were not outlined.   You will notice that I mentioned the location and approximate date of both of these early sources.  This is important to show that even after the closing of the NT, the landscape of church leadership was not uniform.  Rather both documents refer to a specific practice of a specific community. 

Did Augustine actually look like today's bishops?

 Osborne describes the roles of the episkopi, presbyteroi, and diakanoi as their usage became more widespread.  The episkopos was seen as the leader of a local Christian community, more like today’s pastors.  It was the episkopos who celebrated the Eucharist.  The presbyteros on the other hand, was an advisor to the episkopos.  Osborne mentions a story of Augustine, who while a presbyteros, was asked by the episkopos to give the homily.  The community in Carthage was not receptive, for they understood that it was the episkopos who preached!  As the need for leaders in rural areas grew, episkopoi were sometimes reluctant to take on responsibility in those areas.  Presbyteroi sometimes took on these positions and began to preach and celebrate the Eucharist.  As the presbyteroi took on different roles, the episkopoi began leading multiple communities.

As this brief historical survey shows, there was never a universal consensus about who was to lead the Christian community, what authority he/she possessed, nor what ministries he/she would engage in.  Where we have arrived today in the Catholic Church (and wherever your tradition is), is the result of theological reflection on various historical moments of the Church.  For any of us to claim that our leadership represents exactly what Christ instituted while on earth is at best idealistic, and unrealistic. Though Christ chose the Apostles, and they held a place of honor in the early Church, it is unfounded that Jesus intended the Apostles to ordain new Apostles with apostolic authority called episkopoi.  Further, we must admit that our contemporary bishops function in quite a different capacity than the episkopoi of the early centuries.  (If you are in a different tradition, think carefully about what it means to have a “biblical” pastor or church leadership when the early church didn’t exercise that same uniformity and certainty about their leadership)

What Osborne suggests (and this is very wise in my opinion) is that the development of the orders in the Church occurred from theological reflection on pastoral need.  The need for leadership in rural areas led to the presbyteroi celebrating the Eucharist and leading local communities. 

What does all of this mean for Apostolic Succession in the Catholic Church?  Firstly, current New Testament and early Church scholarship rejects the notion that there is a clear “unbroken line” from the Apostles to the Bishops.  To continue as a theologian in these traditions, while at the same time being committed to the historical studies, one must find a mediating position.  On the one hand, what the classic approach to Apostolic Succession emphasizes is that the ordering of the Church is divinely revealed.  However, the argumentation for that conclusion is based upon an unhistorical moment of institution of bishops by Christ.  The assumption is that for something to be divinely revealed, it must have come from Christ’s mouth.  What Osborne suggests is that after the resurrection, the Holy Spirit guides the formation of Christian ministry.  The sometimes chaotic and undeniably human formation of Christian ministries in no way negates divine guidance.

Justo J. Gonzalez, a Protestant church historian, describes the development of apostolic succession as a response to Marcion and Gnostic teachings.  As groups claimed to possess secret knowledge from Jesus, the Church of the second century found it important to show that its leaders were in fact connected to the Apostles.  The Church wanted to show that had Jesus given secret knowledge to the apostles (as the Gnostics claimed), the leaders of the second century church would possess it.^[i] Even if it was unrealistic to think that “bishop” was congruent with the earlier “episkopoi” and “apostalos,” the point was clear.  “Our leaders go back to the first Christians.” To conclude, though a direct ordination from Christ seems untenable, the notion of apostolic succession still seeks to preserve a line of guidance by the Holy Spirit.

---

[i] Justo Gonzalez. The Story of Christianity: Volume I- The Early Church to the Dawn of the Reformation. (New York, HarperCollins. 1984), 65.

Graduate Research Symposium

Please excuse my lack of posts again.  I've recently prepared a paper to present at the Duquesne University Graduate Research Symposium.  Below you can see the video of my presentation followed by the text of my paper.  I tried to rework my initial research to be more accessible in an interdisciplinary context.  The other challenge was making it fit into 15 minutes! Yikes.  If it still requires more clarification, I'm going to hopefully post a condensation soon.  Turn up your volume, because the audio is quite faint.

Daniel Levis

October 17, 2013

Graduate Research Symposium

Theophany as a Model of Sacramental Presence

            In an effort to explain the way God is present in sacraments, the Catholic Tradition at least since the time of Thomas Aquinas has looked toward the metaphysical philosophical system.  This ontological approach to sacramental theology brought a systematic, rational, and unified perspective that has lasted through the Enlightenment up into the twenty-first century.  Glenn Ambrose, a contemporary theologian, has attempted to “overcome” onto-theology by referring to new frameworks.  In his book, The Theology of Louis Marie Chauvet: Overcoming Onto-Theology with the Sacramental Tradition, he has summarized the work of Louis-Marie Chauvet and has drawn further conclusions for sacramental theology.  Through my own interest in biblical theology, I saw that there is a framework of God’s presence especially expressed in the Hebrew Scriptures that is in harmony with the work of Ambrose.  Theophany is a manifestation of God’s presence to His people usually in dramatic ways; for example in the burning bush narrative.  I suggest that theophany is a helpful model for sacramental presence as it addresses many of the questions of sacramental theology today, while avoiding many of the pitfalls of metaphysical theology.

            In this paper, I will first briefly summarize Ambrose’s appropriation of Chauvet and Jean-Luc Marion.  Secondly I will examine two examples of Old Testament theophanies noting the insufficiencies of a metaphysical reading, and highlighting the contributions each example can bring to contemporary sacramental theology.  My goal is not the same as Glen Ambrose.  I do not hope to overcome onto-theology.  Rather, I would like to suggest a model that can provide insight into the sacramental experience of God’s presence in the Church today.

Overcoming Onto-Theology

            Aquinas understood the sacraments with the notion of instrumental efficient causality.  Sacraments are instruments through which God’s grace is given to and take effect on the receptive human.  We will not develop this concept here, but suffice to say that this instrumental causality has permeated Catholic sacramental consciousness since then.  While there is theological consistency in Aquinas’ view, Chauvet is critical of how this can be put into practice.  The metaphor of “production” can tend to describe grace as a thing or commodity.  Chauvet is careful to point out that this “reification” of grace can quickly lead to idolatry and the sense that we have mastery over grace.[1]  The scholastic, ontological approach, seen in its negative light, understands that if a sacrament is performed by the authorized human minister in a licit way, the effects of the sacrament are guaranteed. 

Much of Abrose’s work attempts to overcome this false sense of mastery over the divine and religious certainty.  Two of Chauvet’s concepts are of particular interest to this study: the mediating quality of symbols, and God’s revelation as presence/absence.

            Chauvet’s concept of symbol is built upon a philosophy of “body-consciousness” and a turn to language as an integral part of corporeality. In his view of the person, it is incomplete to conceive of the subject as a disembodied “I” who is communicated through a body and language.[2]  A disembodied “I” thus conceived treats the body as an instrument of mediation.  For Chauvet, humans are both corporeal and symbolic.  Body and language are not external to the person.[3]  The “I” and the “You” encounter each other through the body, not in an instrumental objectifying way.  Language and body are the subject, and thus body-consciousness is the meeting place between two subjects.  Chauvet applies this to symbols.  The symbol mediates the presence of that which is symbolized.  As such, the symbol is actually greater than that which is perceived.  This broadens what it means for the sacraments to be symbols.  Sacraments not only make visible that grace that we cannot see.  Instead, sacraments (the physical elements such as bread and wine, but also the gestures, prayers, and community) are the gift of God.  As the gift they mediate the presence of God.[4]   

The second concept of interest to our study is the way Chauvet understands God’s revelation as presence and absence.  For him, grasping at a full knowledge and definition of God’s presence is contradictory to the biblical experience of God’s presence.  Rather, in the resurrection, for example, the glorified Lord is reveal as much by the empty tomb, or absence, as he is in his resurrected body.[5] Ambrose also reflects on Jean Luc Marion’s concept of idol and icon.  To reduce God’s being to the bread (or any other sacramental species) is considered idolatry.  To see sacraments as an icon is to understand that they mediate more than what is seen.  For Marion the distinction between idol and icon is the admission of distance from the elements themselves and God.[6]

Symbolic and Theophany

Transfiguration of Material-Exodus 3

            We will now turn to biblical examples of theophany and explicate the significance for sacramental theology.  The theological foundation of symbols can be used as a lens to understand the mediation of divine presence through the physical elements of theophany.  The very fact of God manifesting God’s self to a human being means that God’s presence is mediated through some perceivable element.  God’s presence is mediated through a burning bush (Ex 3), a storm on a mountain (Ex 19), a pillar of fire and cloud (Ex 13:21), or even a prophetic vision (Ez 1).  Theophany is therefore a completely mediated experience.  In the biblical account, God’s presence is always mediated through physical “stuff.”

            Let us take Exodus 3 as an example of physical mediation.  While Moses was tending sheep on Mount Horeb, “an angel of the LORD appeared to him in fire flaming out of a bush.” (Ex 3:2).  “An angel of the LORD” is a common phrase used in such appearances.  The phrase immediately gives the sense of mediation as “angel” simply means “messenger.”  There is not a sense that the angel and the bush are not God, for instantly the visual was combined with the audio as God spoke to Moses telling him to remove his sandals “for the place you are standing is holy ground.” (Ex 3:5).   The ground was holy because God was present there.[7]  God was present through the bush and in the words.

            Metaphysical questions about this scene would miss the theological thrust of the story.  “When exactly did the burning bush transform into God?”  “Though the bush retained accidents of a bush, was its substance changed?”  “If someone could have dosed the bush with water, would God have been injured?”  God’s use of materiality does not bind God to the material world.  The thrust of the story can be found later in the chapter.  God was calling Moses to mission (v 10).  God was revealing God’s self to Moses through the disclosure of the Divine Name (v 14).  Finally, God was promising God’s presence would remain with Moses (v 12).  Though God was mediated through materiality, God would continue to be present even once the theophany ended.

            Thomas Fitzgerald, in article entitled “The Eucharist as Theophany,” suggests that the use of the physical in theophany occurs because humans cannot experience God in God’s full existence.  He quotes Nicholas Kabasilas, “For since it was not possible for us to ascend and participate in that which is his, he comes down to us and participates in that which is ours.”[8]  The significance of this for sacramental theology is that the perceivable qualities of sacraments (including words) are God’s participation in human experience and human life.  Fitzgerald assumes an Eastern Orthodox perspective that distinguishes between essence and energy.  It is said that God’s essence is beyond human perception.  What is experienced in theophany and in sacraments is God’s “energy,” that outflowing of God’s power into the human situation.[9]  Thus for Fitzgerald, the substance of the physical elements is not destroyed, but rather the physical elements are transfigured by the energy of God.  The distinction between the essence and energy of God is rooted in the patristic tradition[10] but it is not necessary for a theophanic approach to the sacraments.  What is helpful about the discussion is that it does not assume an ontological change in physical elements.  The material and the immaterial aspects of sacraments become transfigured to bear God to the Church.  Just as the burning bush was transfigured, so are the bread and wine and even the words of the sacrament transfigured.

            To summarize, the Bush mediated the presence of God in a way that can be understood with Chauvet’s mediating quality of symbols.  The entire theophanic event was undeniably an experience of God’s presence, but it was completely mediated through corporeality.  Thomas Fitzgerald explains this physical mediation as a transfiguration of physical elements by the energy of God. A theophanic approach to sacraments understands that there is a change in the elements, but it does not depend on a metaphysical explanation.  Rather, the sacramental symbols that mediate the presence of God are transfigured like the mysteriously transfigured burning bush.  As mediating symbols, they become that which is symbolized.

Distance in Theophany-1Chronicles 28

Marion’s critique of the philosophical god of metaphysics is that there is no distance between the sacrament and god.  It assumes a mastery over the vast incomprehensibility of God and thus creates an idol.  For example, onto-theology insists that we know the exact moment of the change in substance in the bread and wine—when the priest says the words of consecration. A theology of theophany can help to maintain distance.

Once the great theophany on Mount Sinai ended, God continued to manifest God’s presence to Israel first in the Tent of Meetings during the wilderness wanderings, and then in the Temple built in Jerusalem.  While at times these structures gave a false sense of assurance to the people, they also served to maintain distance as God refused to let God’s presence be manipulated by these structures.  When the people were disobedient, Ezekiel saw the Glory of the LORD leave the Temple, and go to a far off land (Ez 10).  The theology of God’s presence in the Temple is significant.

The temple was conceived as an earthly pattern of a heavenly reality.  When Moses was instructed to build the Tent of Meeting, he was given specific details to follow from the pattern (Ex 25:9).  When David commissioned Solomon to build the Temple, he gave his son a similar divinely revealed pattern (1Chron 28).  The significance for the people is that the Temple acted as a gateway into heavenly realities.  When the priest stood in the Temple in the presence of God, he was also mysteriously standing in the heavenly Temple.  Therefore, God’s presence was with His people in the earthly Temple, but not exhaustively.  Metaphysical questions about the extent of God’s “being” in the Temple, miss the theological thrust of the Temple.  God dwelt with His people.  It was truly a blessing, but His presence was certainly not unconditional.   When God is in the midst of His people, there are certain covenant demands.  Falling short of the covenant, would mean the removing of the Glory of the LORD.  While God gives Himself as a gift, He is not confined to our spaces.

Viewing the sacraments as theophany satisfies Chauvet and Marion’s critique of manipulating our understanding of God’s presence.  God is with us in the sacraments, but He is certainly not contained or limited by our ritual.  Alexander Schmemann, explains the meaning of the Eucharist through an examination of Divine Liturgy.  Schmemann indicates that in Divine Liturgy the Church ascends to meet Christ.[11]  As the Church prays the “Holy, Holy, Holy” the Church enters into the heavenly Temple to join the thrice holy hymn of the Cherubim.[12]  The connection between the liturgical celebration and the heavenly worship is a similar connection of the Hebrew Temple with the Heavenly Temple.  The Eucharistic celebration reveals God’s presence, albeit in a specific, and non-exhaustive manner.

The main thesis of Samuel Terrien’s book, Elusive Presence, is that Old Testament theophanies that revealed God to His people also concealed God.   We have already looked at the burning bush and the disclosure of the Divine Name.  Metaphysical attempts to interpret the Divine Name, “I am who I am,” suggest that God was revealing that God is “Being” itself.  While this certainly probes ontological questions, it must be noted that the Hebrews did not have the underlying metaphysical framework making that interpretation less tenable.  Terrien interprets the name in the context of the entire narrative to mean “I will be who I will be.”  As much as the Divine Name offers the promise of continued presence, Terrien also acknowledged that it contains a “quality of elusiveness.”[13]  Attempting to read the psychology of Moses, Terrien suggests that Moses’ inquiry into the Divine Name was an attempt to capture full knowledge of the divine; to attain “religious certainty” (not unlike onto-theology).[14]  God’s response did not satisfy this inquiry completely. Instead, it offered the assurance of presence that could not be fully grasped.[15] “I will be who I will be.”

To summarize, the Temple and Tabernacle theophanies show a connection between God’s presence with His people and God’s presence in the heavenly Temple.  This theology shows a connectedness between the sacramental celebration and God’s presence.  As a corrective, the Temple theology also admits that God is not exhaustively or unconditionally present in the Temple.  This elusive presence is central to theophany as a model of sacramental presence.  Sacraments as theophany remove the tendency of manipulation and control that comes with certainty of God’s presence.  Just like in the Temple and with the Divine Name, God’s sacramental presence cannot be manipulated or cajoled.  This emphasizes the sheer gratuity of God’s gift.  The Church is not a dispenser of God’s grace.  Instead, in every celebration of a sacrament the Church again asks for God’s grace to be present for the Church.  The “efficacy” of the sacrament is completely dependent upon God’s initiative.

Concluding Thoughts

            We have briefly discussed two significant theophanies of the Hebrew Scripture and summarized their contributions to a contemporary sacramental theology.  The burning bush narrative takes seriously Chauvet’s concern for body-consciousness and the symbolic mediation of sacraments.  The Temple theophany admits a connection and distance between God and the sacramental celebration.  We would find more insights as we unpack further examples of theophany, including contemporary sacramental theology’s attempts to connect sacraments and ethics, and articulating the community dimension.  I do not hope to suggest a new normative model for understanding sacramental presence, nor do I pretend to be free from onto-theology.  Instead, I hope that this concept from biblical theology would bring a richness to sacramental theology in order to recover the mystery of God’s presence with his people.

Works Cited

Ambrose, Glenn P. The Theology of Louis-Marie Chauvet: Overcoming Onto-Theology with the Sacramental Tradition. Burlington: Ashgate, 2012.  

Clasby, Nancy. “Dancing Sophia: Rahner’s Theology of Symbols.” Found In Religion & Literature, Vol. 25, No. 1 (Spring, 1993), pp. 51-65.

Fitzgerald, Thomas.“The Holy Eucharist as Theophany.” In Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 28, 27-38, 1983.

Terrien, Samuel. The Elusive Presence. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1978. 

Murphy, Francis X. “The Patristic Origins of Orthodox Mysticism.” In Mystics Quarterly, Vol. 10, No. 2, 1984, pp. 59-63.

Schmemann, Alexander. The Eucharist. New York: Crestwood, 1987. 

The Roman Missal. International Committee on English in the Liturgy.

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[1] Ambrose, Glenn P. The Theology of Louis-Marie Chauvet: Overcoming Onto-Theology with the Sacramental Tradition. Burlington: Ashgate, 2012.    49

[2] Ibid 62

[3] Ibid 60-62.

[4] Ibid 93-94.

[5] Ibid 56.

[6] Ibid 22-25.

[7] To say that the ground is holy because God is present also says something about the ground where the burning bush was not located.  If particular ground is sacred, certainly there was ground around Mount Horeb that was profane or secular.  This may illuminate a Rahnarian sense of cosmic sacramentality.

[8] Fitzgerald, Thomas.“The Holy Eucharist as Theophany.” In Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 28, 27-38, 1983. 37.

[9] ibid 37.

[10] Murphy, Francis X. “The Patristic Origins of Orthodox Mysticism.” In Mystics Quarterly, Vol. 10, No. 2, 1984, pp. 59-63. 60.

[11] Schmemann, Alexander. The Eucharist. New York: Crestwood, 1987.  60.

[12] Ibid 65.

[13] Terrien, Samuel. The Elusive Presence. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1978.  119.

[14] ibid 119.

[15] ibid 119.