The Orthodox Heretic by Peter Rollins as promoted by 'The Website of Unknowing':
No Conviction
In a world where following Christ is decreed to be a subversive and illegal activity you have been accused of being a believer, arrested, and dragged before a court.
You have been under clandestine surveillance for some time now, and so the prosecution has been able to build up quite a case against you. They begin the trial by offering the judge dozens of photographs that show you attending church meetings, speaking at religious events, and participating in various prayer and worship services. After this, they present a selection of items that have been confiscated from your home: religious books that you own, worship CDs, and other Christian artifacts. Then they step up the pace by displaying your many poems, pieces of prose, and journal entries that you had lovingly written concerning your faith. Finally, in closing, the prosecution offers your Bible to the judge. This is a well-worn book with scribbles, notes, drawings, and underlings throughout, evidence, if it were needed, that you had read and re-read this sacred text many times.
Throughout the case you have been sitting silently in fear and trembling. You know deep in your heart that with the large body of evidence that has been amassed by the prosecution you face the possibility of long imprisonment or even execution. At various times throughout the proceedings you have lost all confidence and been on the verge of standing up and denying Christ. But while this thought has plagued your mind throughout the trial, you resist the temptation and remain focused.
Once the prosecution is finished presenting their case the judge proceeds to ask if you have anything to add, but you remain silent, resolute, terrified that if you open your mouth, even for a moment, you might deny the charges made against you. Like Christ, you remain silent before your accusers. In response you are led outside to wait as the judge ponders your case.
The hours pass slowly as you sit under guard in the foyer waiting to be summoned back. Eventually a young man in uniform appears and leads you into the courtroom so that you may hear the verdict and receive word of your punishment. Once you have been seated in the dock the judge, a harsh and unyielding man, enters the room, stands before you, looks deep into your eyes and begins to speak,
“Of the charges that have been brought forward I find the accused not guilty.”
“Not guilty?” your heart freezes. Then, in a split second, the fear and terror that had moments before threatened to strip your resolve are swallowed up by confusion and rage.
Despite the surroundings, you stand defiantly before the judge and demand that he give an account concerning why you are innocent of the charges in light of the evidence.
“What evidence?” he replies in shock.
“What about the poems and prose that I wrote?” you reply.
“They simply show that you think of yourself as a poet, nothing more.”
“But what about the services I spoke at, the times I wept in church and the long, sleepless nights of prayer?”
“Evidence that you are a good speaker and actor, nothing more.” Replied the judge, “It is obvious that you deluded those around you, and perhaps at times you even deluded yourself, but this foolishness is not enough to convict you in a court of law.”
“But this is madness!” you shout. “It would seem that no evidence would convince you!”
“Not so,” replies the judge as if informing you of a great, long-forgotten secret.
“The court is indifferent towards your Bible reading and church attendance; it has no concern for worship with words and a pen. Continue to develop your theology, and use it to paint pictures of love. We have no interest in such armchair artists who spend their time creating images of a better world. We exist only for those who would lay down their brush, and their life, in a Christlike endeavor to create a better world. So, until you challenge this system and become a thorn in our side, until you die to yourself and offer your body to the flames, until then, my friend, you are no enemy of ours.”
If we step for a moment into Christ's shoes, and think about offering the bread and the wine to our closest compatriots, as we ask them to 'take this, all of you and eat it, this is my body, which shall be given up for you', it's impossible not to be hit with the indubitable gravity of the request/demand. A sense of immense self sacrifice, and the immense load of one human life lived for anyone else except for that self, all wrapped up in flour, water and wine and blessed, to boot.
I had a good conversation tonight with a good friend about the nature of self sacrifice, and how pitifully easy it is to come across as virtuous in our culture (Oh no, my car doesn't have air conditioning. Does yours?) About how the true nature of intentionality is never quite captured in the act, no matter your high or low moral standpoint. About how crispy clear we can get our definitions and distinctions, and still not even come close to representing the intricate messiness and ridiculous beauty that is inherent in every moment we're graced to be part of.
How indeed we see through a glass darkly, never more so than when we think that we know God. All of which has left me with a humbled grin as I dare to start treading the path through a Gnostic seminary.
One day, somehow, I might see the means to hold back my self-misgivings just long enough to hand you a wafer and a swig of red. 'Til then, I'm kinda with the Dust Brothers:
'I say let me never be complete
I say may I never be content
I say deliver me from Swedish furniture
I say deliver me from clever arts'
lyrics liberated from 'This is Your Life' - from the soundtrack to the movie 'Fight Club'
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