Travis Ryan Pickell

Travis Ryan Pickell

ET3316 Ethics and the Problem of Evil

Final Paper

“The Narrative of Redemption: a Liturgically Funded Thick Description”

December 8, 2009

“‘Meaningless! Meaningless!’ says the Teacher. ‘Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless’” (1:2). With that, the author of the book of Ecclesiastes launches into twelve wearying chapters about the sheer vanity of life. “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.” (1:14). A worldly man, he has experienced all that life has to offer; yet for him no meaning could be found. The Teacher is not simply a cantankerous person, prone to a bitter disposition. He is a common-sense realist. When he looks out into the world around him, he sees labor, toil, injustice, striving, greed, riches, pleasures and pain, and his moral calculus configures that, in the end, all there is “under the sun” cannot add up to a meaningful whole. And yet, one must ask whether all there is “under the sun” is, in fact, all that there is. If that is the case, it is reasonable to join in with the Teacher’s cry of vanity, for even St. Paul concedes, “If only for this life we have hope, we are of all people to be most pitied” (1 Corinthians 15:19). The Christian story asserts that we do not live in a world without windows—a closed system of nature without meaning or purpose.

This essay will explore how the Christian liturgy, specifically the liturgical calendar year, clues us in to a reality beyond the empirical, which in turn places our experience in a greater context, one that offers hope for investing this world—along with its joys and sufferings—with meaning. First, it will offer an account for how religious symbols and rituals shape a faith-community to encounter the seemingly chaotic world by conditioning within its members certain moods and motivations, which then inform their view of the “really real.”[1] Next, it will give a “liturgically funded thick description”[2] of the Christian calendar as enumerated in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, with specific attention given to its narrative quality and function. Finally, it will show how the liturgical calendar helps the church to encounter suffering in the world by forming an alternative, counter-cultural view of time and history, and by establishing a Christian ethic of remembrance.

In his essay, “Religion as a Cultural System,” cultural anthropologist Clifford Geertz distinguishes between different “perspectives” through which humans view the world around them including, but not limited to, the perspectives of common-sense realism, scientific doubt, aesthetic disengagement, and religious belief.[3] These perspectives describe different ways in which people encounter the world, specifically those aspects of experience that threaten to unhinge confidence in the intelligibility of the world: namely bafflement, suffering, and ethical paradox (i.e. unexplainable evil).[4] Such experiences, left unaccounted for, “lead to a deep disquiet”[5] among religious and irreligious alike.Because the social character of humanity occasions need for patterns of behavior not supplied by genes or raw instincts, humans require “extrinsic sources of information,”[6] by which to order their lives. It is this need that religion fulfills. For Geertz, a religion is “(1) a system of symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic.”[7]In other words, religious symbols explain the chaotic world in terms of an orderly whole and condition the religious community to actually believe it. The mechanism by which this occurs is ritual. Through ritual performance, one’s sense of the “really real” is transformed. Empirical reality, so often characterized by seeming chaos and arbitrariness, is relativized; while the “moods and motivations a religious orientation produces cast a derivative lunar light over the solid features of a people’s secular life.”[8] The religious person, then, moves dialectically between the world of ritual and the world of secular life, in a constant “oscillation between worship and ethics,”[9] by means of which her view of the secular world is conditioned and informed by her religious convictions.

For Geertz, the function of religious ritual is basically meaning-making. Humans, by and large, can endure evil and suffering themselves, so long as some meaning can be found. Indeed, “[man] can adapt himself somehow to anything his imagination can cope with; but he cannot deal with Chaos”[10] that is, meaninglessness. Religion counters bafflement, suffering, and evil, not by alleviating them but by placing them in a meaningful context. “As a religious problem, the problem of suffering is, paradoxically, not how to avoid suffering but how to suffer, how to make of physical pain, personal loss, worldly defeat, or the helpless contemplation of others’ agony something bearable, supportable—something, as we say, sufferable.”[11] It will most likely be countered that Geertz’ account of religion amounts to a species of escapism and quietism that is morally reprehensible in the face of horrendous evils. At the very least, it echoes Marx’s oft quoted statement: “religion… is the opiate of the people.” This critique, it seems, is partly legitimate, and we will return to it below.[12] For now, I will simply make two points. As to the charge of escapism, Geertz himself refutes this characterization of religion on the grounds that (contra Malinowski) religion “has probably disturbed men as much as it has cheered them; forced them into a head-on, unblinking confrontation of the fact that they are born into trouble.”[13] As to the charge of quietism, Geertz explains religion independently of ethical injunctions, but this is not because religion is antithetical to ethics. Ethical response to suffering in the world will be conditioned by the character of the moods and motivations produced by the particular content of the religious world in which one participates through ritual performance. At the generic level, however, one cannot comment on “religious ethics” without reference to the specific religion involved.

With this account of religion in place, it is only fitting that it be tested within the context of a specific ritual practice. This is fully in keeping with Geertz’ own methodology, who states, “the essential task of theory building…is not to codify abstract regularities but to make thick description possible.”[14] Therefore, the remainder of this essay will be dedicated to an analysis of one aspect of my own religion: namely, the Christian liturgical calendar. For the sake of simplicity, the liturgical calendar given in the 1979 Anglican Book of Common Prayer (BCP) will be used. While by no means universally accepted, it provides enough continuity with other mainline Christian denominations (Catholic and Protestant) to be of particular use. It may be objected that the liturgical year is not, in fact, a single religious ritual but rather a collection of religious rituals. I concede the point. Within the Christian faith, however, there are many layers to ritual performance. The Eucharist, for example, is pregnant with ritual significance in and of itself, yet it is doubly so on Easter morning, after the absence of the Eucharist on Holy Saturday. The Easter Eucharist is invested with an additional layer of meaning by virtue of its place within the rest of Holy Week. In a similar manner, each individual season of the church year is invested with meaning by virtue of its relation to the other seasons and holidays, and its particular place within the liturgical year. For that reason, the liturgical calendar, as a whole, draws participants into its own internal logic in the same way that, for instance, a service of Eucharist would.

“The Church Year consists of two cycles of feasts and holy days: one is dependent upon the movable date of the Sunday of the Resurrection or Easter Day; the other upon the fixed date of December 25, the Feast of our Lord’s Nativity or Christmas Day.”[15] The first of these cycles, the Christmas cycle, begins with a season of preparation and anticipation called Advent. During the four weeks of Advent, the lectionary readings focus on the coming of Jesus Christ (adventus = Latin for “coming”) from two perspectives. By reading the messianic prophecies in the Hebrew Scriptures, the church anticipates the celebration of the coming of the Messiah. It enters into the history of Israel, which is, of course, also the history of the church. From this perspective, the focus is on the incarnation of Christ, as the One for whom Israel waited. During the season of Advent, the church also focuses on the eschatological vision of the New Creation, the peaceable kingdom, and the consummation of history. In doing so, the church is reminded that, according to the Christian story, not only has Christ entered into history, but Christ will also come again. Advent reminds the church that it lives in the time between the incarnation and the parousia (Greek for “coming” or “appearance”), a time characterized by a fundamental tension. The kingdom of God is both already and not-yet—inaugurated by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, but not yet consummated, brought to its full completion.

While Advent is a time of preparation and anticipation, Christmas is a time of celebration. During the season of Christmas (which lasts, contrary to popular belief, for twelve days) the church celebrates the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Christmas is a celebration of the fact that God entered into human history in the person of Jesus in order to redeem humanity, and history itself. The focus is on the incarnation—the enfleshment of Jesus. As such, it is also a remembrance of the goodness of creation and the certainty of God’s compassion for humanity.

Christmas gives way to Epiphany, which falls on January 6. In the Anglican Church, Epiphany has two main significances. As a remembrance of the visitation of the infant Christ by the Magi (Matthew 2), Epiphany celebrates “the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.”[16] While Advent reminds the church of the particularity of God’s salvific election through the nation of Israel, Epiphany celebrates the cosmic aspect of Christ’s coming for the entire world. On the first Sunday after Epiphany, the church celebrates “The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ,”[17] which is the main focus for the season of Epiphany for the church in the East. Jesus Christ’s baptism by John the Baptist in the Jordan River (recorded in all four Gospels) is remembered as the moment when Jesus was manifested as the second person of the Trinity, “at the beginning of the mission which will lead him to Easter.”[18]

The second major cycle of the church calendar is the Easter cycle. Although coming after the Christmas cycle, it is no less important or foundational. In fact, “the paschal mystery is the wellspring whose waters flow through the liturgical year.”[19] “Christmas… will be badly misused if one does not at the same time see in it the whole destiny of God made man, which reaches its fulfillment in the paschal sacrifice.”[20] This “means that the liturgical year emanates from the passion and resurrection of Christ; [however] we do not by this limit the mystery of salvation to mere passion and resurrection of Christ, but it embraces the entire life of Christ.”[21] Christmas is inherently celebrated at Easter, just as Easter is inherently celebrated at Christmas.

The Easter cycle begins with the season of Lent, a forty-day period of fasting, penitence, and identification with the testing of Christ in the wilderness (Matthew 4, Mark 1, Luke 4). Lent begins with the ritual of Ash Wednesday, during which ashes are imposed upon the forehead of the congregants “as a sign of our mortality and penitence;” thus the injunction: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”[22] Historically, the “season of Lent provided a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy Baptism. It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful were reconciled by penitence and forgiveness, and restored to the fellowship of the Church. Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.”[23]

At the end of the Lenten season comes Holy Week, the climax of the church year. Each day in Holy Week is charged with ritual significance, constantly moving the worshipper between remembrance of the suffering of Christ’s Passion and the glory of Christ’s resurrection. At every point, suffering and glory are juxtaposed. For example, Palm Sunday, the first day of Holy Week, is a celebration of Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matthew 21, Mark 11, Luke 19, John 12) but is called “The Sunday of the Passion.”[24] Likewise, “the liturgies of the Paschal Triduum [Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday] are compelling because they enact salvation in the midst of suffering.”[25] Taken as a whole, they focus on the last days of Christ’s life and his suffering; however, they do so at every point with the knowledge that “Sunday’s coming.”[26]

Easter Sunday is the Great Sunday of the Resurrection. The liturgy begins before dawn with The Great Vigil of Easter. After a fire is kindled, the Celebrant lights the Paschal Candle, which in turn is used to light the candles of the congregants. The Paschal Candle represents the “light of Christ” and will be burned at every service from Easter to Pentecost.[27] The Service of Lessons, also called the Liturgy of the Word, follows the Service of Light. The Liturgy of the Word is initiated with the following words: “Let us hear the record of God’s saving deeds in history, how he saved his people in ages past; and let us pray that our God will bring each of us to the fullness of redemption.” With that, the narrative of God’s redemptive history is rehearsed—Creation, the Flood, Abraham’s call and testing, the Exodus, God’s sustaining presence in the wilderness, and various prophecies of God’s continued redemptive action. After the Liturgy of the Word, the congregants renew their baptismal vows and celebrate the Holy Eucharist, proclaiming, “Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.”[28]

The Season of Eastertide lasts for 50 days, culminating with the celebration of Pentecost, also called Whitsunday. “According to Luke [Pentecost] was the day on which the Church was born in the power of the Holy Spirit, and when it was sent back into the world.”[29] At Pentecost, the Church is reminded of its mission in the world, and its dependence upon the Spirit of Christ to fulfill it. The rest of the year (over half of the calendar year) is simply referred to as “The Season After Pentecost” or “Ordinary Time.” The church, empowered by the Holy Spirit and formed by the liturgy, then lives in “ordinary time” until it once again celebrates Advent and looks forward to the coming of Christ. One can easily see that the church during “ordinary time” lives, liturgically speaking, between Christ’s resurrection and his parousia.

The Christian liturgical calendar, as should be evident at this point, has a definite narrative character. Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost, Ordinary Time, Advent. By participating in the liturgical calendar, each year the church awaits the coming of the Messiah, welcomes him into the world, remembers his mission and baptism, identifies with his temptations and suffering, celebrates his resurrection, receives the Holy Spirit, lives out its own mission in the power of the Holy Spirit, and awaits Christ’s parousia. This narrative character is not, however, strictly linear. As noted earlier, at every point in the liturgical year, the entire story of God’s salvation history is implied and remembered. It is not necessary to suspend remembrance of the whole story in order to fully enter into part of it. All parts must be simultaneously held up and affirmed in order for any single part to have meaning.

Which brings us back to Geertz. The story Christians tell is not one that can be read, as it were, off the face of the world around us. That is not to say that there is no evidence for its truth in our experience. Rather, according to Alasdair MacIntyre, “we point to the state of the world as illustrative of doctrine [or, shall we say, our story], but never as evidence for it.”[30] The story we enter through ritual is not the story of common-sense realism, but that does not mean that it is not, as a matter of fact, true. “The liturgical structures of time and ritual play invite us to experience anew an ever-deepening sense of our place in God’s story.”[31] To say that “worship is world making, creating and inviting us to participate in an alternative reality”[32] does not mean that in worship we make-up a world out of thin air. Nor does it mean that the alternative reality is created by us, rather the alternative reality is created in us. If there is more to the world than we can see with our eyes and touch with our hands, and if there is more to history than meets the eye, the alternative reality to which we are introduced through liturgy may, in fact, be more true than the world of common-sense realism. This, according to Stanley Hauerwas, is exactly what the Christian faith claims: “We can only act within the world we can envision, and we can envision the world rightly only as we are trained to see. We do not come to see merely by looking, but must develop disciplined skills through initiation into that community that attempts to live faithful to the story of God…To be redeemed… is nothing less than to learn to place ourselves in God’s history, to be part of God’s people.”[33] In this sense, liturgy is sacramental in that it “is an action that brings about the state of affairs that it communicates… Liturgy is soteriology in motion.”[34]