Christian Piatt Blog

Oscar-winning filmmaker James Cameron claims he has compelling evidence that the remains of Jesus Christ have been found. In a special titled “The Lost Tomb of Jesus,” airing Sunday on the Discovery Channel, he also argues that Jesus had a son with Mary Magdalene, whose name was Judah.

Cameron’s documentary focuses on six ossuaries discovered nearly three decades ago in a tomb in Jerusalem. On the outside of the ancient caskets were inscribed the names of Jesus, son of Joseph, Mary, Mary Magdalene, Matthew, Joseph and Judah, son of Jesus.

What does all of this mean? It depends on whom you ask.

Creators of the documentary claim they have relatively airtight evidence that would prove with 99.99999% certainty that these are the family members and apostle of Christ, as well as Jesus of Nazareth himself. If such assertions were confirmed, it indeed would be the most significant find in the history of Christianity, if not the world.

For those whose beliefs hinge on Jesus’ bodily resurrection, physical remains would rock their entire faith. In addition, the suggestion that Jesus had a family of his own goes directly against some peoples’ image of an eminently chaste savior. It also implies that Christ’s bloodline still may be in existence, which has all sorts of implications.

I grew up in a church where I heard, week after week, the claim that if Jesus was not physically raised from the dead, our faith is meaningless. This was a terrifying prospect to me. The argument goes that if he wasn’t raised from the dead, body and all, then he wasn’t the son of God. He was just a nice guy with some good ideas.

For some, the miracles of Jesus, from turning water to wine all the way to resurrection, are the necessary evidence of his divinity. Without these, he loses his credibility as the messiah. For others, the miraculous is not confined to a few mystical, inexplicable acts recorded in Scripture. Further, the very definition of “miracle” is anything attributed to God, generally inexplicable in human terms.

Given this perspective, Jesus’ resurrection and stories take on a new kind of meaning. Whether or not such events took place exactly as stated in the Gospel texts is less important than the idea that something inexplicable and powerful took place in the birth, life and death of Jesus. God broke into the world, and nothing has since been the same. The miracles then become secondary to the very presence of someone who represented this divine in-breaking, which we still struggle to understand.

The possibility that Jesus married and had children is another affront to some Christians. For those who claim Jesus was without sin his entire life, the concept of him engaging in sexual acts is incomprehensible. This actually says more about how people perceive sex than it does about Jesus.

Scripture doesn’t say if Jesus had sex, a wife or children or not. In the Old Testament, procreation is a gift from God that is necessary to our continuation as a species. Sure, sex is the source of much pain in the world, but to blame the act itself as inherently sinful is like blaming a dollar bill for human greed.

For people whose faith requires rigid “if-then” contingencies, there is no human argument that could sway them. Every scientist in the world could verify the findings of those who discovered the tomb in Jerusalem, to no avail. For others who do not rely on history remaining just as they perceive it, this presents an opportunity for discussion, and perhaps to learn more about our religious ancestry.

Regardless, the very significance of the find, and the debate that surrounds it, indicates the very human fixation of searching for traces of the divine in the world around us. We want to find, once and for all, the thing that will answer all of our open-ended questions.

If such answers existed, there would no longer be a need for faith; we would just know. Personally, it was Jesus’ faith that is most inspiring. If it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.

Our understanding of what participation in Communion or Eucharist means varies widely, as do the ways in which – and the frequency with which – we practice it.

As a Disciple, I’ve become accustomed to taking Communion as part of every worship service. As the spouse of a minister, I run as much of a risk as anyone that my observation of this sacred rite will lose some of its significance.

The Greek word koinonia is defined as Christian fellowship or communion with God or with fellow Christians, said in particular of the early Christian community. Socrates remarks on the importance of koinonia when he says, “Heaven, earth, gods, men – all are held together by communion, friendship, orderliness, temperance and justice, prompting us to call the whole world ‘cosmos,’ order.”

This value of koinonia was shared both by Plato and Aristotle, although they had somewhat different takes on its role and interpretation. But one fundamental truth in which they both believed was that true communion – the societal bond rather than the religious ritual – stood in opposition to oppression.

Essentially, people could not come together in true communion while in a master-slave relationship. Koinonia required a leveling of power, a dismantling of hierarchy, so that all are equal in the community. This, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle suggested, was the foundation of justice, order and a realization of the basic greater social good.

This inheres different significance into the ritual practice of the Last Supper. It is not simply a discipline to reenact Jesus’ last meal with his disciples. It is his final rebellious proclamation that together as a unified (re-membered) body of faith, and by re-envisioning (remembering) Christ’s final acts, we are not only all one, but are all equal in the eyes of God.

This koinonia is stronger than the oppression exacted upon the Jews by the Pharisees or the Roman Empire. It is empowering, and stands in the face of any outside force that would challenge it. In sharing this meal, by drawing his followers together, and in asking them not only to do this with him, but to always do it and remember, he offers hope.

It’s been suggested that the meekness of Jesus often is misunderstood. On the one hand, some consider his “turn the other cheek” charge to be a demonstration of passive submission.

On the other, it is seen as a nonviolent expression of power in itself. By turning the other cheek, Jesus actually presents his offender with a conundrum. To strike again with the right hand, the aggressor would have to use the back of his hand, which was viewed as cowardly or weak. To strike with the left hand, which was considered evil or unclean, was vulgar.

Other examples of Jesus’ subversive nature can be pulled from the Gospel texts, though such interpretations are open to question. In the end, we take what we will from all of these biblical stories, based upon our own experience, instruction and personal bias.

Regarding the Last Supper, this kind of understanding not only demonstrates Jesus’ historical and philosophical wisdom and knowledge, but also his ability to see beyond the present, toward a future of which he was an integral part.

Did he know the future? Scripture suggests he didn’t.

Did he have a pretty good understanding of people and the many ways in which they would likely interpret, manipulate and even abuse his legacy? Based on the way things turned out for him, we can assume he expected lots of us not to get it.

This is just another of those human lenses through which we gaze upon the stories with which we are left. Oftentimes, I want to see a dissident revolutionary, so it’s no surprise that’s what I find.

I could be wrong, but I like to think of Jesus sharing one last meal, while at the same time sticking it to the establishment.

Waking up to our evangelical roots

For those who embrace it, evangelicalism represents a religious, social, and even political movement that is at the core of our collective moral well-being. For opponents, it is tantamount to a four-letter word.

Historically, “evangelical” has been synonymous with “protestant.” In Europe, evangelical churches are distinguished from reform churches that follow in the footsteps of the likes of John Calvin, and subsequently Jonathan Edwards. Today, the term is associated with belief in the inerrancy of scripture, the centrality of a personal conversion experience, and faith in the blood atonement of the crucifixion.

Evangelicalism was once a movement more than it was an institution. In response to many of the doctrines of the Anglican Church in the 18^th century, the First Great Awakening gave rise to the Methodist Church. American spiritual leaders such as John Wesley felt compelled to guide our fledgling nation back toward a Christ-centered faith, having become discouraged by the proliferation of alternative practices such as deism, which was embraced by – among others – a number of the founding fathers.

While the early evangelical movement did emphasize all of the values noted above, there was also a call for what was considered a rather radical approach to social justice. This included empowering women in church leadership, the abolition of slavery, and a tireless commitment to the poor within one’s community. Rather than the movement serving as a platform for public policy, it was a reassertion of the core values of the Christian faith which, in turn, were to guide our daily lives as individuals, and as a body of faith.

At the dawn of the nineteenth century, two great religious revivals took place that gave birth to yet another surge in commitment to the American Christian experience. The first meeting was at Credence Clearwater Church in Kentucky in 1900, followed a year later by a much larger revival in Cane Ridge, Kentucky.

This was the spark that ignited the movement known as the Second Great Awakening, and it was from this ferment of spiritual fervor that our denomination first came to be. Again, the focus of this re-imagining of the evangelical Christian role in America was one of justice, hammering away at issues such as racial and gender equality.

I had the opportunity last year to worship at the small church in Cane Ridge where this revival that included upwards of 20,000 people took place. I was with a group of young adult church leaders, and each day a different group led worship in their own cultural tradition. The evening service at Cane Ridge was led by our African-American brothers and sisters.

Some of us who were not as familiar at the time with the history of the Cane Ridge revival made our way up to the balcony of the cramped log cabin structure. But before worship began, the leaders asked all of us to join them in the front.

“No one sits in the balcony tonight,” they explained. It was only later that I understood why.

For nearly two hours, we sang, laughed and cried together as we worshipped God. Together, we gave thanks for the blessing of community, and for the gesture of our religious ancestors who called the African-American congregants down from the balcony during that revival to worship as a united body in Christ.

There are those in the young adult community who believe the Church is positioned for a Third Great Awakening. There are also some who feel our connection to Cane Ridge and the early evangelical movement is over-emphasized. For me, one who is relatively new to Disciples, it offers a connection to a religious ancestry which helps me transcend the present climate of religious partisanship and dogmatic bickering.

It also serves as a charge for those current and future church leaders. Christianity’s great moments in modern history have come not when we focus on establishing boundaries of social decency, but when we challenge, and even cross over, boundaries of ignorance, inequity and oppression.

We are an evangelical church, but only insomuch as we live out the radical justice to which we are called by Christ. It is in serving that we are awakened to our purpose as Christians, and it is through daily acts of justice-centered obedience that the world will ultimately catch the spark of faith which we so urgently wish to share with them.

‘Friends of God’ portrays church on warpath

Alexandra Pelosi’s new HBO documentary, “Friends of God,” portrays dimensions of evangelical Christianity about which many of us have heard but may have never seen.

Pelosi’s trek across (mainly southern) America is equally amusing and distressing.

The documentary has particular relevance today, given that one of the principal figures in the piece is Ted Haggard, former pastor of New Life Church in Colorado Springs. Before getting caught in a tawdry scandal involving sex and drugs, Haggard availed himself to nearly any media outlet in the country who sought his perspective on God and morality.

“This week, we have HBO with us,” he says, filmed during a worship service. “Last week it was CNN and next week it’s the History Channel or someone else.”

Haggard believed that his open-door media policy and frank approach to proclaiming his beliefs were key to evangelism. Little did he realize that, one year after the taping of this movie, he would be caught violating his very own principles.

“We say moral purity is better than immorality. We say telling the truth is better than telling a lie,” says Haggard. “We are the ones with the role to say there is a moral plumb line and we need to rise up to it. That’s also why secular people are so concerned when the church doesn’t fulfill its own moral stand, like if a pastor falls into corruption or becomes dishonest. Even secular people want godly people to be authentically godly.”

Chalk it up as one more example of religious hypocrisy.

There’s plenty more of interest, not the least of which involves wrestling for Jesus. A group of professional wrestlers tour the country, putting on displays of strength, agility and dramatic violence, followed by a call to commit one’s life to Christ.

The leader of the group, a burly, sweaty man in a spandex unitard, claims that approximately 10 percent of every audience for which they perform is saved. Who knows what he bases his claim on, but he believes what he is doing works.

Hot rodders for Jesus debate the age-old question: “What would Jesus drive?”

Pastors in pith helmets and khakis present arguments to young children about how dinosaurs and people lived side by side, and how the Earth is only a few thousand years old. Behind one minister delivering such a talk, the words, “The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it,” are emblazoned in bold across a giant screen.

Those 10 words summarize the theology of most of the folks portrayed in the film.

One criticism of the film is that it portrays a fringe group of evangelicals that don’t represent the broad spectrum of such Christians in America. However, if only the tens of thousands shown in the film alone share such militaristic sentiments, it’s enough to raise an eyebrow.

Throughout the film, phrases such as “cultural war” meet with seas of nodding heads and enthusiastic applause. Though it can be argued that evangelicals seized the reins of American power in recent years, there is a pervasive sense of dignified martyrdom.

There is, as portrayed by the film, a movement afoot to reclaim the nation which is believed to have been founded on their own principles. One touring concert, called Battlecry, draws five-figure crowds of youth across the country, urging them to fight for what they believe, at any cost.

“This country is the best country in the world,” says one self-proclaimed conservative comedian. “It’s better than Europe; that’s why we left.” Cue the standing ovation.

Still wonder why the rest of the world views Americans as arrogant, self-righteous bullies? Flags and crosses blend into a single amalgam of theocratic fervor, portraying a section of our country that believes it’s their preordained right to press their agenda by any possible means. After all, they’re friends of God; how could they possibly be wrong?