Veritas

Occasionally we find ourselves in places that resonate deeply within us, almost as if they are saying, “You belong here.” For me this has happened in recent days, dwelling in and around Harvard University. (OK, smarty!)   

What comes to mind at the mention of Harvard? Good Will Hunting? Bostonians in scarves? Pontificating professors’ glasses sliding down their noses? I have heard it described as both “liberal” and “conservative.” So going to the Memorial Church for the first time, I was not sure what to expect.

What I found stunned me: neither a bunch of lefties parading causes, nor dry, lofty, academic speeches (I have witnessed both at other academic institutions’ worship.) Instead I found a heartening thing: genuine faith. A real congregation of all ages was engaged in traditional liturgy of artistic and beautiful quality. It was not showy. The sermon was a straightforward explication of a biblical passage in Mark, about intimacy with Jesus’ death and “the price of all love.”

What is truth? (John 18:38) “Veritas” means truth. It is the “sign” of Harvard, reminding me that Pilate’s question is our own. When Jesus remains silent, he draws us forth into this most difficult of questions, this most difficult struggle of life: asking after the truth.   

Draw me, Lord, into places where I can ask after the Truth. Amen.

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Recommend for further reading:

The Cambridge Companion to Christian Philosophical Theology

Edited by Charles Taliaferro and Chad Meister (Cambridge University, 2010)  

 

I came across this volume quite by accident (or not) as I randomly selected a spot in the Harvard Coop (rhymes with soup) bookstore on Harvard Square, one of my favorite places to hang out and study. Charles Taliaferro, as it happens, was my philosophy professor at St. Olaf (and a fan of the Good Minute!) Let me publicly say congratulations to Charles, for a fine volume that represents the best tradition of reason energetically participating with faith.

The compilation covers topics such as the existence of God, prayer, salvation, and host of other central issues for Christian thought and practice. These are subjects that often do not receive attention in philosophical circles. Sadly enough, neither do they find much traction in church and theology circles as philosophical topics. That is to say, these topics need serious rational reflection by Christians as to their foundation and their logical structure, and their possible refutation. Speaking as a pastor, I know first hand the way that we can too easily pan off easy formulas and quick slogans rather than really investigating our positions or encouraging people to ask energetically after the truth. Such serious inquiry is difficult, and this volume is indeed demanding on the reader. However, Taliaferro's essay on liturgy in particular is an example of something truly accessible by most readers and a concise, helpful contribution to something that matters practically to most Christians.

One of my utmost personal commitments is this: active intellectual reflection is vitally important to the experience of one's faith. As I was just reminded of at Harvard Memorial Church, the quest for truth is rigorous in more than one sense: it is intellectual, physical, emotional, and spiritual, and involves one in living out the questions rather than just "agreeing" with a doctrine. It does not have to be showy, but it is never boring because it resonates at the inner level of what it means to be human.

Achievement

"Achievement" is like a man
Old, bent, carrying a broomstick under his arm,
Shuffling through the kitchen late at night,
A shadow passing
In front of the one pinpoint of light in the house
Under the kitchen cabinet. Eclipsing the silver drawer,
As if on some great errand, his ambling purpose takes him beyond
The refrigerator, to the dark alcove of the next room.

He slinks onward, muttering his plans
For How It Will Be! Meanwhile we sit
On a stool, watching the room empty him out
—And fill again with his hulking shape, mad, fitful.
Back to where he came, he crosses back in front
Of the light, the one way we can see him.

As he retreats, his wide round ghost melts
Into darkness. Yet his midnight shade lingers
As we stare down white tiles, black under the stool,
And we know, yes we know, that he, in his stooped
Agitation
Will ruffle forth again, musty slippers scraping
Our attention, saying, "Yes, it's me—
I have come for a bit of bread, cheese, meat!"
And we cannot, no we cannot, do anything
In the dark except help him to eat.

Disorder

The most amazing fact about Jesus, unlike almost any other religious founder, is that he found God in disorder and imperfection.   –Richard Rohr

“Wait, wait, wait!” I called weakly from the hospital bed, as the doctor whisked through the curtain and out of the room. He left mid-sentence, without even letting me ask a question.

That scene rather encapsulates the last few months of my life: disorder. I cannot possibly comprehend or control the things that have swirled around my boat like crashing waves. To top it off, a mystifying infection landed me in the ER, where the formula [5 hours = 5 min w/Dr] seems ever to hold, thus no time for silly questions. 

Were the internal microscopic invaders mirroring the external chaos of my life? Or were they just a random occurrence, part of a brute, unaware mechanism of nature? Either way, sitting alone in the bland inhumane and sterile room, I was the one who had to assign meaning to the event.

This sickness is not unto death. (John 11:4) Jesus teaches his followers to assign a different meaning to disorder. What can come from sickness, pain, evil? Merely this: creation, life, forgiveness, love, redemption, hope, and glory for “the Son of God.” 

As a Son of God, I will fill empty sick rooms with meaning, belief, and love. Amen.

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