** you do not have permission to see this link **     

I think the mind and body have ways (often a bit jerky) to keep things returning to an even keel. Where balance is the mind's way to make sense of when our sense are working.When we dream this stabilizer is not so active or strong. Under stress or drugs some form of imagination runs more or less rampant.

Also Mr. Natural reminds us  "it don't mean sh$t."

Can't tell you that but Amoxicillin is my go-to for arresting a chest cold before it takes hold. It's not supposed to work but it does.

Last night I dreamt there was a mass demonstration going on with hundreds of people marching in the street, all wearing red berets, being led by the Star Trek character in the original show, Scotty, played by actor James Doohan.  

Somebody use your intuitive psychological insight and tell me what that meant!   

Ok Robert, you didn't really expect that one to glide by me without comment, did you? 

Your path is so obviously different than mine that I am compelled to inquire after your train of thought.  Sooo...consistent with your own comfort level of self-revelation, please expand. 

Stephen said
So what would be more of a scandal, that you participated or that you were seen not to participate?

Definitely the latter for most people, but for conservative doctrinaire Catholics like my little brother the former is a bigger concern!

In the last years of my father's life, when I came for a visit, I would accompany him to his church simply because I knew it pleased him to have his family around him.

Bless you!

*Uncomfort is one of a series of archaic terms I am attempting to revive. (In this case mid-1600s.) Won't you join me? 

In most things, absolutely, but in this case I generally prefer 'unease' and in the specifics of my example I was in no way uncomfortable or not at ease, just contemplating potential eventualities.

When you feel frisky describe yourself as an "ex-Christian".  That'll get an interesting conversation going! 

But that would not be accurate. Even as a believer I would happily refer to myself as a Christian atheist, perhaps even moreso now.

So what would be more of a scandal, that you participated or that you were seen not to participate? 

I went to a church that practiced what we called "Closed" Communion.  Meaning that participation in the Lord’s Supper was restricted to baptized members of our own church.  This would occasionally create a bit of a stir among guests who were part of our denomination because we seem to be questioning their worthiness.   

In the last years of my father's life, when I came for a visit, I would accompany him to his church simply because I knew it pleased him to have his family around him.  It had no more power over me so I felt no uncomfort* whatsoever.  Interestingly I never had occasion to perform communion.  I'm really not sure how I would have responded.  

*Uncomfort is one of a series of archaic terms I am attempting to revive. (In this case mid-1600s.) Won't you join me? 

Not only am I a former Franciscan friar, but I am also a divorced Catholic, a former Catholic, and no longer a believer in any of the dogmas of the church, a wanna-be atheist who can’t quite bring himself to call myself an atheist (much prefer to call myself an apophatic agnostic but am secretly thrilled when people call me an atheist–proves the apophatic part is working).

When you feel frisky describe yourself as an "ex-Christian".  That'll get an interesting conversation going! 

This is certainly true.  Some commentators have noted the seeming revival of the concept of the "house" church even in tandem with traditional church services.  

But I want to add something that complicates your frame, and it is where my interest is not quite yours. You are watching a decline. On some flanks there is not decline but growth...

The irony of the "success" of the Prosperity Gospel is that it avows exactly the point of view, wealth as an outward sign of God's blessing, that Jesus explicitly attacks in Matthew! 

Other more mainstream groups, not growing but holding their own, benefit from either, the return of members who had drifted away while young, or converts moving in from other flavors of Christian belief.  The best example of this is the American Orthodox church which is seeing an influx of Protestant émigrés.  A fascinating phenomenon. 

What these groups are not seeing is an influx of fresh, previously unchurched converts from the outside, necessary for true growth over time. 

But, as I suggest to my friends among the faithful, perhaps this is a necessary period of decline where the church can purge itself of those whose participation is predicated on something other than genuine commitment.  In an illustration not always appreciated (understandably) by my friends, consider the tick-ridden dog both before and after the application of the medicine.  The image of the "righteous remnant" is very familiar from the Bible.  A loss of privilege is followed by a loss of pandering and exploitation.   It is always instructive to note exactly who objects the most to this loss of privilege! 

So I share your interest in watching this, but not your position at the window. You are watching a social force decline. I am watching whether what continues is still recognisable as church when set beside Jesus.

Understood.  This is why as an outsider I don't always feel the need to have an opinion.  if you ask me what I think about women being ministers I will pass. Not because I have no feelings about women's rights but because this is an internal matter.  As an outsider I simply note that exclusivist attitudes contribute to the fact that so many folks are heading for the doors.    I note the propensity on the part of fundamentalists not to take the hint but to double down.   And then wonder why even more folks are deserting the pews! 

As a former Franciscan friar (never ordained as a priest or having held any authority, other than being licensed by the Pope to teach theology to seminarians), I recently traveled to a niece's wedding. All of my siblings were there and quite a bit of extended family. A great time was had by all, and I found the service meaningful at several levels. It was presided over by the new  Archbishop of New York (close friend of the groom's family). This was probably the first church service I've attended in 10 years.

Not only am I a former Franciscan friar, but I am also a divorced lapsed Catholic and no longer a believer in any of the dogmas of the church, a wanna-be atheist who can't quite bring himself to call myself an atheist (much prefer to call myself an apophatic agnostic but am secretly thrilled when people call me an atheist--proves the apophatic part is working). My siblings and I'm sure some of the extended family are aware of all or at least much of this my so many people there would have been scandalized or questioning why I would receive communion if I chose to do so.

As I pondered this in my mind, I nevertheless still believed everything about the Eucharist that I used to believe as a heretical believer and Franciscan friar (sketched out ** you do not have permission to see this link ** for anyone who may be curious). And I certainly felt that I was in communion with everyone else present at many levels, even if their religious beliefs were very different from my own. I certainly was not trying to deceive anyone and would have enthusiastically welcomed anyone that might have questioned me about my receiving communion (especially the Archbishop!). But many people would have assumed, if they gave it any thought at all, that I was a believer in good standing with the Catholic church so at some level I was misleading some people. But, of course, I can't be responsible for what others might assume and nor should a fear of their assumptions prevent me from participating at the level where I felt most comfortable. I've always had and still do have a great love for the Eucharist, even if I don't believe what the church believes about Jesus and his legendary last supper.

I think your revised claim is much stronger than “they can never really think for themselves.” You have withdrawn that, and what remains is harder: even if a minister can honestly reach a contrary conviction, can an institution whose office joins personal assent, public teaching, and speaking on behalf of the church respond without punishing him for having reached it?

My position comes to this. The contrary conclusion must remain a live possibility for him. The office need not remain available once that conclusion has become settled. But the loss of the office need not be arranged as punishment. That may sound hard, but I do not think it is harsh. A confessional church cannot promise that a settled rejection of what the office requires will have no consequences. If the office includes personally affirming and teaching certain claims, someone who no longer believes them may no longer be able to hold it. But consequence and retribution are not the same thing. The necessary consequence may be the loss of the office. Humiliation, suspicion about his motives, character assassination, social exclusion, pressure to keep silent and indifference to how he will support himself are added by the institution. They do not follow from having a confession.

The difference is practical and testable. Is he given time to examine whether his change of conviction is settled? Is there a confidential place where he can speak before every doubt becomes public? Is there any help through the financial transition? Is his service described honestly, without treating his change of conviction as misconduct? Is his departure from office described as an honest ending rather than as a betrayal? He may no longer want what the community holds, and no church can guarantee that he will still wish to belong to it. But it can refuse to cast him out socially or to treat him as morally tainted. A church cannot define such an office and then treat all the costs of leaving it as solely his private problem.

Your addition about More already contains something close to this distinction. The wrong was not simply that a boundary or an oath existed. It was that the state created a situation in which death became the price of integrity. But I read More in the play differently in one respect. He searched for a way to take the oath in good conscience. When he found none, he refused. He did not take it while privately preserving a meaning that depended on others understanding his words differently. The passage you quote is about not seeking martyrdom or rushing toward a terrible choice. It is not about manufacturing a private meaning that allows one to stay dishonestly. If anything, More shows that there may come a point at which the words will not bend any further, and a person knows that he has reached it. Would you agree with that reading? I would add, without pressing the comparison too far, that the positions are not equal. More faced an oath imposed by the state under threat of death. The minister once freely sought an office and made its confessional promises himself. That does not make the minister’s later position easy, and it certainly does not excuse cruelty toward him. But it matters when we ask what the institution may reasonably expect.

The severity of the costs therefore does not settle the question of communication. It makes his search for a way to remain humanly intelligible. It may greatly reduce how harshly anyone should judge him. It may expose serious fault in the church that created the trap. But if he continues to use words while knowing that the congregation hears a settled conviction he no longer holds, the difference remains. The injustice of the cost does not by itself make the communication transparent.

On your second wrinkle, I think you are right, and you are turning my own standard against the institution. If a church invokes personal testimony when that testimony creates confidence, but retreats into administrative language when the minister’s conviction changes, it is acting asymmetrically. An indefinite leave of absence for unnamed “personal reasons” may protect the institution, but it can also mislead the congregation. I have no defence of that.

I would make one distinction. What the former minister may owe is a truthful correction of his own testimony: those who relied upon it should be able to know that he no longer believes what he once taught. The form and reach of that correction should bear some relation to the reach of his earlier teaching. A full argument for why those people should now abandon the faith is a further act. It is a new testimony of another kind. He may be free to give it, and the church should not try to silence him outside his former office. But I do not think honesty alone requires the church to give that argument its own authority or to turn its worship into the platform for it.

There is room between a misleading disappearance and an unrestricted retraction from the pulpit. The congregation can be told truthfully that he can no longer affirm what his office required. He can be free to explain his reasons publicly in his own name. The church need not endorse those reasons, but it must not protect itself by inventing a vague or false account of why he left.

So I think four judgments have to remain separate. His attempt to find a way to stay may be humanly intelligible. His responsibility may be lessened by the severity of the costs. The institution may be seriously at fault for making honest departure needlessly destructive and then asking for silence. And yet the congregation may still be left in a relevant misunderstanding if familiar words continue to suggest a personal conviction he no longer holds.

A church may protect what it believes to be true. But it must distinguish consequence from retribution, and protecting truth from protecting itself.

You are right that my “web” presupposes a way of reading, and that there is no neutral standpoint outside all ways of reading from which we can judge between them. I cannot step outside that problem.

I notice something in your own examples. You say that originalists are sometimes accused of cherry-picking historical material to find things in the text that are not there on any plain reading. That charge only makes sense if some readings do better justice to the text and its history than others. If a text placed no limits at all, there could be no cherry-picking. There would only be picking, and the complaint would make no sense. The same applies when a reading is called strained. To call it strained is already to say that some readings fit the text better than others.

You say yourself that not all hermeneutics are equally defensible. That is enough for the narrower point I need: interpretation is disputed, but it is not therefore without limits. It does not mean that we agree on those limits, or that the text can settle every dispute by itself. It means only that better and worse readings remain possible, even without a neutral standpoint or a final judge.

There is a distinction I have found useful in my own tradition: between explaining a text and using it. A later community may take an older text into a wider argument without claiming that this later use was already its original meaning. That does not automatically make the later use legitimate, but the interpreter should at least say what is happening. Part of what gives the complaint about cherry-picking its force is that a later construction can be presented as though it were simply the plain historical meaning of the text. The distinction does not decide which readings or uses are defensible. It does prevent explanation and later use from being quietly treated as the same thing. That is close to the standard of transparency I have been pressing throughout this thread, now applied to the reading of texts.

This matters for the resurrection claim. Your constitutional examples concern what certain provisions may be taken to cover or imply. The limit I proposed was different. On the Pauline reading I have been defending, this is where the claim fails: if God did nothing to the dead Jesus, then the claim that God raised him is false. “Raised” can of course be reread as a claim about what happened in the disciples, the community, or the continuing meaning of Jesus’ life. But then it no longer names an act of God upon Jesus himself. That reinterpretation may be sincere and even valuable. It is nevertheless the shift I was trying to make visible.

One difference in the comparison is worth noting, and it does not favour me. Your examples involve a court whose authority can make one interpretation legally binding. Christianity as a whole has no such court. That is a genuine weakness: no interpretation is finally settled for the whole tradition. But it also means that no single ruling can fix a strained reading across all of Christianity. Readings remain open to dispute across generations, and they can lose their hold again.

And your question about who decides is not something I can treat as another tradition’s problem. It is not abstract for me. I come from a tradition shaped by what it cost when a church treated its own judgment about the confession as final and got it wrong.

The authority question remains real and unresolved. But it does not follow that the text places no limits on what we can make it say.

Tjalling said:

A Christianity that promises health and wealth can grow. So can a Christianity fused with national and political power. What is best adapted to competition need not be what most resembles Jesus.

Although I'm no longer a Christian, I must say I am deeply saddened by the growth of prosperity theology.  I was originally drawn by what I saw, rightly or wrongly, as a pacifist message and a concern for the downtrodden. Now, no eye of the needle is needed. Wide is the gate.

No doubt that last sentence of yours is true.

Stephen, you are right. Your first post already spoke of a competing marketplace and of choice rather than obligation. Indifference is one possible outcome of that, and perhaps the hardest one. I also marked the limit of my own example: China is not an open marketplace, so it tells us nothing about whether Christianity can win by free persuasion.Your point about the persecution paradigm sharpens that. Persecution can confirm a group in its own eyes. Indifference is different: it offers no opposition around which a group can rally.

So let me answer directly. No, I do not think the church survives widespread indifference in the form it has had. Not the buildings, not the cultural authority, not the assumed place at the front of the line. Some of that I would not mourn. A church that needs to be assumed rather than chosen has already lost something.

What I do trust, without being able to demonstrate it, is that communities gathered around Jesus will keep re-emerging. The church has more than once outlived forms that seemed inseparable from it. That is a conviction, not evidence, and I will not dress it up as more.

But I want to add something that complicates your frame, and it is where my interest is not quite yours. You are watching a decline. On some flanks there is not decline but growth, and that is where my dismay sits, not with the emptying churches. A Christianity that promises health and wealth can grow. So can a Christianity fused with national and political power. What is best adapted to competition need not be what most resembles Jesus.

So the question becomes a different one for me. Not whether the church survives, but what survives when something bearing the name grows in numbers and influence. Sociological continuity and theological continuity can come apart. A body can gain members, money and influence while becoming less recognisable as what it claims to continue.

I should say plainly what standard I am using there, because otherwise this is just a way of calling whatever I dislike “not the real church.” My measure is not simply my own taste, nor whether something passes a doctrinal checklist. It is whether a form of Christianity remains recognisable when set beside Jesus. That is a theological judgment, not a neutral sociological one, and I state it as mine rather than as an observation anyone would have to share.

But the same distinction has been at work throughout this thread. If “Christ is risen” can retain its wording while losing the claim it once made, “church” can retain its name while losing the reality that name is meant to designate. Sometimes what endures is the name, the language and the power, and not the thing they once named.

So I share your interest in watching this, but not your position at the window. You are watching a social force decline. I am watching whether what continues is still recognisable as church when set beside Jesus.