This is partly due to the fact that I find myself resistant by nature, and for a long time I considered the world of blogs a dichotomized one: either (1) the authors express great and formidable displays of intelligence, artistic talent, etc. or (2) the authors are narcissistic, angst-ridden young people. In the first league, I don't feel qualified to be counted among the ranks. In the second, I don't want to be counted among the ranks (however qualified I might already be).
I've been finding recently that this may not be the case (though if it is, I'm not quite sure which end of the continuum I'll be closest to). A few blogs have caught my interest in the last year or so, which I find myself reading quite regularly. Inspired by their ability to share with the world the experiences they have had navigating through life (often in admirable humility) and having a means of connecting with others, I have decided to join the blogosphere.
As a first post, I figure I ought to explain a bit about my purpose and the reason for the title, "Sunday Morning Geese."
I am, first and foremost, a Christian. This is, sadly, a highly ambiguous term, one that I hope will become more clear both to me and anyone interested throughout this blog and my lifetime. I could list several foundational truth statements and perhaps a few thinkers or theologians I admire, maybe a favorite verse or two, but I have increasingly found that this often seems to do more damage than good. There is, however, one statement I can make: Christianity is holistic. It ought to permeate all aspects of life. It ought to drive the believer.
I am also a philosopher. This, too, is a highly ambiguous term. Coupling my reading of philosophy and the truths of my faith has been an interesting journey, one I hope will be worth reading to someone else. This combination has led to the discovery of some beautiful individuals, which has yielded the title of this blog.
Soren Kierkegaard, a Danish philosopher of the mid-19th century, made it his task to find the true meaning of Christianity. He is often called the father of existentialism and a forerunner to postmodernism. Often playful with his words, he habitually explains concepts through parables and stories. The following is such a parable
"Imagine that geese could talk -- and that they had planned things in such a way that they, too, had their divine worship services. Every Sunday they gathered together and a goose preached. The gist of the sermon was as follows: What a high destiny geese have, to what a high goal the creator -- and every time this word was mentioned the geese curtsied and the ganders bowed their heads -- had appointed geese. With the help of their wings they could fly away to distant regions, blessed regions, where they really had their homes, for they were but alien sojourners.
It was this way every Sunday. Afterwards, the assembly dispersed and each one waddled home to his family. And so to church again next Sunday, and then home again -- and that was the end of it. They flourished and grew fat, became plump and delicate, were eaten on St. Martin's Eve -- and that was the end of it.
Yes, that was the end of it. Although the Sunday discourse was so very lofty, on Monday the geese would discuss with each other what had happened to the goose who had wanted really to use his wings according to the high goal set before it -- what happened to it, what horrors it had to endure. Of course the geese would not talk about it on Sunday; that, after all, was not appropriate. Such talk would make a fool of God and of themselves.
Still, there were a few individual geese among them who looked poorly and grew thin. The other geese said among themselves: There you see what happens when you take seriously this business of wanting to fly. Because they harbor the idea of wanting to fly, they get thin, and do not prosper, do not have God's grace as we have it, and become plump, fat, and delicate. For by the grace of God one becomes plump, fat, and delicate.
So it is with our Christian worship services. We, too, have wings, we have imagination, intended to help us actually rise aloft. But we play, allow our imagination to amuse itself in an hour of Sunday daydreaming. In reality, however, we stay right where we are -- and on Monday regard it as a proof that God's grace gets us plump, fat, delicate. That is, we accumulate money, get to be a somebody in the world, beget children, become successful, and so forth. And those who actually get involved with God and who therefore suffer and have torments, troubles, and grief, of these we say: Here is proof that they do not have the grace of God."
The issue of Sunday morning geese is what I plan to address. Kierkegaard's parable has so much in it, but I'll focus on just a few points. Many Christians, particularly in America, often go to church on Sunday to hear the Word of God which so frequently demands the impossible. And yet they act as though we simply hear unattractive, implausible words honking from the pulpit (though I might make the case that this is not only the truth, but the inherent beauty of the faith).
Are we really called to success, falling in line, being "a somebody in the world" when our Savior died as a rebel on a cross? How exactly are we to become the skinny, suffering goose who is in fact dumb enough to fly? Can we avoid becoming plump enough to be eaten on St. Martin's Eve? How does our imagination in our understanding of the resurrected Christ go beyond Sunday daydreaming?
It is my hope that answers to questions like these will be made more clear as this blog progresses. I humbly invite you to follow my intellectual, spiritual, and holistic journey through this world. I promise no profound wisdom nor prophetic truth. To borrow once again from Kierkegaard, "I am not a Christian severity as opposed to a Christian leniency. By no means. I am neither leniency nor severity: I am -- a human honesty."
Honesty. That I can offer.
(By the grace of God, at least.)
"Imagine that geese could talk -- and that they had planned things in such a way that they, too, had their divine worship services. Every Sunday they gathered together and a goose preached. The gist of the sermon was as follows: What a high destiny geese have, to what a high goal the creator -- and every time this word was mentioned the geese curtsied and the ganders bowed their heads -- had appointed geese. With the help of their wings they could fly away to distant regions, blessed regions, where they really had their homes, for they were but alien sojourners.
It was this way every Sunday. Afterwards, the assembly dispersed and each one waddled home to his family. And so to church again next Sunday, and then home again -- and that was the end of it. They flourished and grew fat, became plump and delicate, were eaten on St. Martin's Eve -- and that was the end of it.
Yes, that was the end of it. Although the Sunday discourse was so very lofty, on Monday the geese would discuss with each other what had happened to the goose who had wanted really to use his wings according to the high goal set before it -- what happened to it, what horrors it had to endure. Of course the geese would not talk about it on Sunday; that, after all, was not appropriate. Such talk would make a fool of God and of themselves.
Still, there were a few individual geese among them who looked poorly and grew thin. The other geese said among themselves: There you see what happens when you take seriously this business of wanting to fly. Because they harbor the idea of wanting to fly, they get thin, and do not prosper, do not have God's grace as we have it, and become plump, fat, and delicate. For by the grace of God one becomes plump, fat, and delicate.
So it is with our Christian worship services. We, too, have wings, we have imagination, intended to help us actually rise aloft. But we play, allow our imagination to amuse itself in an hour of Sunday daydreaming. In reality, however, we stay right where we are -- and on Monday regard it as a proof that God's grace gets us plump, fat, delicate. That is, we accumulate money, get to be a somebody in the world, beget children, become successful, and so forth. And those who actually get involved with God and who therefore suffer and have torments, troubles, and grief, of these we say: Here is proof that they do not have the grace of God."
The issue of Sunday morning geese is what I plan to address. Kierkegaard's parable has so much in it, but I'll focus on just a few points. Many Christians, particularly in America, often go to church on Sunday to hear the Word of God which so frequently demands the impossible. And yet they act as though we simply hear unattractive, implausible words honking from the pulpit (though I might make the case that this is not only the truth, but the inherent beauty of the faith).
Are we really called to success, falling in line, being "a somebody in the world" when our Savior died as a rebel on a cross? How exactly are we to become the skinny, suffering goose who is in fact dumb enough to fly? Can we avoid becoming plump enough to be eaten on St. Martin's Eve? How does our imagination in our understanding of the resurrected Christ go beyond Sunday daydreaming?
It is my hope that answers to questions like these will be made more clear as this blog progresses. I humbly invite you to follow my intellectual, spiritual, and holistic journey through this world. I promise no profound wisdom nor prophetic truth. To borrow once again from Kierkegaard, "I am not a Christian severity as opposed to a Christian leniency. By no means. I am neither leniency nor severity: I am -- a human honesty."
Honesty. That I can offer.
(By the grace of God, at least.)
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