The Tent of Abraham

The Tent of Abraham: Stories of Hope and Peace for Jews, Christians and Muslims
By Joan Chittister, OSB, Murshid Saadi Shakur Chishti and Rabbi Arthur Waskow
Forward by Karen Armstrong
Boston, Massachusetts: Beacon Press, 2006
Review by Carl McColman

Given the insanity currently going on in southern Lebanon (not to mention similar, underreported violence in Gaza), this book could not be more timely. Three American authors — a Benedictine nun, a rabbi, and a Sufi — joined forces to write this hopeful book which teases out the story of Abraham, his two sons and their mothers, in an effort to look at how the disparate cultures of Judaism, Christianity and Islam can somehow come together in our day to foster real peace in the middle east (and beyond). The book is a celebration of story and hermeneutic as much as it is a call for peace, as it teases out the many layers of meaning in the Abraham story (as well as considering how the story has been told and retold in different ways within the different faith communities). The authors begin by simply retelling the story, each from the perspective of his or her faith tradition. Naturally, the Jewish tradition focusses on Sarah and Isaac, while the Arab/Muslim tradition prefers the perspective of Hagar and Ishmael. The authors not only consider the canonical stories as found in Genesis and the Quran, but also look at midrash, folklore, and commentary as it has enlarged our understanding of the story down the ages. Thus, the terror of Abraham, who essentially turns out to be a threat to the life of both his sons, is faced honestly; much is made of the scriptural tradition that the two sons came together after the father’s death to bury him — and then to settle down together.

At its heart, this book simply asks Rodney King’s question: why can’t we all just get along? If Isaac and Ishmael are brothers, and if whatever enmity that existed between them was more their parent’s doing (and was put aside at the time of the father’s death), then shouldn’t that be the blueprint for creating a world where Jews, Christians and Muslims co-exist peacefully and with honor and respect for one another? While the book with its American authorship and liberal publisher may suffer the fate of reaching (and preaching) only to the choir, its message remains powerful in its simplicity and deserving of as wide a readership as it can possibly find.

Each author brings a wonderfully unique perspective. Rabbi Waskow goes right after the hard questions as he deconstructs the story’s layers of terror — but always with an eye to finding a hope which transcends the traditional ways in which Abraham has been used as a focus of tribal (rather than global) identity. Sister Chittister situates her understanding of the story within her life experience as a peacemaker who has worked extensively with both Israeli and Palestinian women. Finally, Chishti (who may be more familiar to some readers by his Anglo name Neil Douglas-Klotz) brings a Sufi’s mystical sensibility to the story, considering how each of the five principle characters live within all of us as dimensions of our individual souls. Rounding out the book is a brief section of essays considering ways to foster peace: through creating interfaith forums where we may greet our long lost “cousins” and hopefully build relationships, along with suggestions for shared holidays, particularly this year and in 2007 when the sacred months of Ramadan and Tishrei coincide.

The final chapter may be the most explosive. It’s a retelling of the story of the circumstances by which Hagar and Ishmael left Abraham, told from the perspective of the women (both Hagar and Sarah) and suggesting that the enmity between the women as reported in the old stories may have been fabricated by the women themselves in an effort to protect the children from Abraham’s miguided zeal. Could the story of Hagar’s and Ishmael’s banishment actually be history’s most long-standing cover-up? In exploring this question, what emerges is a fascinating new telling of the tale, with polyamorous overtones even as it challenges the dangers of religious fanaticism.

If you have any concern for peace (particularly in the middle east) or for interfaith work (particularly among the three Abrahamic faiths), The Tent of Abraham is a must-read. But as soon as you’re done with it, give it away or loan it out. It needs to reach as many people as possible.

A Generous Orthodoxy

A Generous Orthodoxy
By Brian McLaren
Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2004
Review by Carl McColman

Here’s a book that gets the amazing-subtitle award. See if you can repeat this three times fast: A Generous Orthodoxy: Why I am a missional, evangelical, post/protestant, liberal/conservative, mystical/poetic, biblical, charismatic/contemplative, fundamentalist/calvinist, anabaptist/anglican, methodist, catholic, green, incarnational, depressed-yet-hopeful, emergent, unfinished Christian. What a mouthful!

I’m delighted to say that the book is as good as its title is long.

McLaren is a non-denominational (perhaps Matthew Fox’s neologism “post-denominational” would be more apt) minister who pastors a large church in Maryland; he comes out of the evangelical world and so shares the sensibility and lingo of the born again community, but with a clear appreciation for philosophy, culture, science and liberal values — values that sometimes puts him at odds with the evangelical mainstream even while enabling him to articulate a truly visionary statement of how the church might find new ways to express fidelity to Christ in the postmodern world. A Generous Orthodoxy is a confessional work in which McLaren gives voice to his own faith, and in doing so provides inspiration for the faith of anyone who is seeking an authentic expression of Christianity for our time.

There are many jewels in this book, but perhaps the single most valuable one, to my mind, is McLaren’s audacious declaration that “Protestant” needs to be re-defined: away from protest, and toward pro-testifying. In other words, one of the weaknesses of Protestant Christianity (and therefore, of evangelicalism) has been its core identity of protest: protesting the abuses of late medieval catholicism; then protesting the rise of secularism, and — sadly, all too often — protesting other “protestantisms,” as the various denominations of Protestant Christianity have attacked one another with a same zeal that inspired the initial 16th-century break with Rome. Of course, the problem with protesting, is that it leads to a culture that is defined more by what it is against rather than what it is for. As a consequence, people outside of Christianity tend to see the religion in terms of its prohibitions: no extramarital sex (and most especially no same-sex love), no abortion, no exploration of non-Christian faith, no drinking, no dancing, no fun (!). But the taboos of the faith are only a small part of Christianity, and so McLaren wisely counsels the postmodern believer to shift the focus away from protest and toward the core good news of the gospel: hence his awkward if theologically astute pun calling for a “pro-testifying” form of Protestantism.

This is not a book of erudite theology or carefully argued Biblical exegesis, and as such it may frustrate those who prefer their Christian reading to be served with a razor-sharp attention to logical detail. But what McLaren lacks in scholarship he more than makes up for with vision, playfulness, optimism, wit, and genuine love for the faith and the church whose task it is to present that faith to each new generation. And so, McLaren has taken on the task of articulating a vision of Christianity that can speak to the postmodern seeker, who grew up listening to rock and roll and surfing the internet and consequently feels at home in the kaleidoscopic, ethnically diverse, culturally multivalent, and all too often ethically ambiguous world that, for lack of a better term, we call “the postmodern.” And while I suspect many in the evangelical community are wringing their hands at a world where teenagers are militant about everything from piercings to polyamory, McLaren embraces postmodernity and sees it as a wonderful venue where the best and most radical qualities of the gospel (like, for example, the unconditional love and grace of God) can be celebrated in new ways.

McLaren is a fan of Ken Wilber, and as such Wilber’s integral theory dances through this book. Indeed, A Generous Orthodoxy could be described as a Wilberian approach to Christianity, as it seeks to integrate the best qualities of Orthodoxy, Catholicism, and the various strands of Protestantism and evangelicalism. Like Wilber, McLaren wastes no time trying to figure out who’s right and who’s wrong, but instead gleefully sets about trying to piece together the various strands of the Christian tradition into a gleaming, integral (read: postmodern) whole. As such, he is wonderfully appreciative of Catholicism (which of course warmed my heart), but that’s in a context where he endeavors to be wonderfully appreciative of just about all constructive forms of the faith. The supersized title gives you a preview of the book’s table of contents, and so in it you can see how Calvinism, Anglicanism, Methodism, mysticism and the charismatic renewal, and various other currents (and eddies) in the Christian stream are all honored in turn. In each chapter, McLaren strives to be balanced, not shying away from the problems or limitations of the particular school of theology/spirituality being discussed, while maintaining an overall positive tone. The end result: a rich tie-dye vision of a big, inclusive Christianity that welcomes diversity of opinion and experience, thereby enabling multiple points of entry for the seeker who is not so much interested in finding “the truth” as in celebrating “a truth” that vibrates with meaning and purpose (not to mention love and joy).

Of course, along the way McLaren sticks his neck out more than once, although pretty much always in ways of which this postmodern contemplative heartily approves. He sees evangelism-as-salesmanship to be the liability it is, and boldly insists that Christians need to stop worrying about who is or isn’t saved — regardless of whether a person is even a Christian, or instead practices some other faith (or none at all). By shifting the focus away from who is (or isn’t) likely to end up in hell and emphasizing instead the prodigal love and grace of God, this approach to the faith creates room for the titular generosity that McLaren champions: an orthodox Christianity that is more concerned with giving away God’s love than with tallying up God’s assets.

It’s a great book. I think every Christian should read it, and every open-minded non-Christian probably should as well. If the faith looked more like McLaren’s vision of it, I think many of the liberals who abandoned church over the last two generations would be tempted to return — with their integrity fully intact.

Shamanic Christianity

Shamanic Christianity: The Direct Experience of Mystical Communion
By Bradford Keeney
Rochester, VT: Destiny Books, 2006
Review by Carl McColman

I wanted — at least in theory — to like this book.

After all, I’m the guy who calls himself “the Druid with a Rosary.” My spiritual identity is significantly linked to exploring ways to integrate Christianity with various forms of earth-based wisdom. So obviously, a book on shamanic Christianity sounded like just the kind of book I would love.

But this is not a book on shamanic Christianity. It’s just another tired pop-psychology treatment of ho-hum spiritual ideas and exercises, marketed under the generic term of “shamanism” and given just enough Christian window-dressing to justify its title. What you get for your fifteen bucks is a book that fails both as an exploration of shamanism and as a study of Christian spirituality. Dear reader, you would do far better to get your hands on Michael Harner’s Way of the Shaman and Evelyn Underhill’s Mysticism; read them concurrently and let your imagination do the talking. At least then, you’d have decent material from which to launch your own spiritual exploration of Christian/shaman cross-breeding. And if you can’t figure out how to integrate the two, read Matthew Fox.

But if you decide you really want to read this book, what you’re going to get is a series of “Lost Teachings” that presents a series of stories (ranging from the whimsical to the absurd) which combine an element of Christian spirituality with a shamanic principle. A “lost parable” deepens each shaman-Christian connection, leading into an exercise to help you integrate the teaching into your own practice. So, for example, one chapter suggests that Jesus walked at one point among the Ojibway, where he learned to run (and howl) with the wolves; another chapter gushes about how the Virgin Mary’s greatest desire is to bake yummy little cakes so that people will taste a bit of heaven when they eat them. Further chapters take aim at Francis of Assisi, the Celtic saints, Hildegard of Bingen, and even the Shakers.

The second part of the book consists of “Lost Directives” where you can get all sorts of helpful shamanic hints for dealing with anger, fear, boredom, worry, and other annoying little problems that prevent us from having lots of fun all the time. While occasionally the author manages to offer something that seems to have a bit of merit (the exercise on “finding your lost temper” might actually help diffuse real anger with wacky humor. Hey, it’s worth a try), I remain unpersuaded that any of this cloying pop-psychology has any necessary relationship with shamanism, let alone Christianity.

The author appears to be a bit of a coyote, but one who thinks that all shamanism must be silly and playful in order to be authentic. Wiseguy comments like “True Christian shamans value the ridiculous as much as they aspire to enter the mystical visions of heaven. No quaking laughter, no entry into the biggest mysteries” and “shamanic tricksters… meet seriousness with absurdity and comedic improvisation” dance through this book. But Keeney beats this drum to the point where it seems that he’s just set up yet another tired dualism: silliness and absurdity is good, earnestness and seriousness is not so good. Meanwhile, even his silliness betrays the original meaning of that word (it comes from a Germanic root that connotes a sense of being blessed) and winds up feeling more like nonsense than anything truly useful to either the theorist or would-be practitioner of shamanic Christian mysticism.

I suspect that this book will be read more by shamanic wannabes who are trying to figure out why Jesus won’t let go of them, than by mainstream Christians who are looking for compelling new dimensions to their faith. For all of Keeney’s efforts to come across as hip and playful, at times he sounds rather shrill and lacking in the most important of Christian qualities: love. After all, those who take their faith too seriously often do so because they think it’s the loving thing to do. Rather than gently tease them out of their self-imposed prison of dour religiosity, Keeney basically goes after the jugular. And maybe that’s “shamanic” (whatever that means), but it’s a rather poor expression of Christianity.

In the introduction to the second part of the book, Keeney makes the following very revealing declaration: “Should you find yourself wondering what is the point of an exercise, remind yourself that one of the points is to plunge you into a new experiential territory that bankrupts your habituated ways of making meaning… This is intended to be a baptism into sacred absurdity, part of the matrix for shamanic transformation.” In other words, he has thrown in his pennies with all the other legions of new age and pagan and shamanic and various other post-modern earthy-types who, in reacting against the rationalistic heritage of the modern era, have lionized the irrational (the “sacred absurdity” in Keeney’s words) as the only true gateway to the mystical. But this is a salient example of what Ken Wilber calls the “pre/trans fallacy.” In other words, true mystical awakening can only come when consciousness transcends mere rationality, and engages in a trans-rational state of being. But far too many spiritual hipsters, recognizing the inherent limitations of rationality but blind to the true trans-egoic demands of the Spirit, make the mistake of thinking that pre-rational modes of consciousness are all that is necessary to achieve enlightenment. So we can play at being tricksters and absurdists and we can run around in the woods howling at the moon, just like Keeney suggests Jesus did. Of course, if you’d rather be a shamanic Buddhist, just substitute Siddhartha for Jesus. And all it takes to be enlightened is simply to pretend that it’s so. After all, the only thing that matters is to trade what is rational for what is absurd…

Our world needs powerful, deeply-rooted, ethically nuanced explorations of ways to integrate the mystical wisdom of the monotheistic faith traditions with the earth-positive lore of indigenous spiritualities. But this book doesn’t come close. Its feel-good “teachings” would quickly bore a student of John of the Cross or even Black Elk. Think Silver Ravenwolf with a rattle in one hand and a cross in the other. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Orlando

Orlando (1992)
Starring Tilda Swinton, Billy Zane and Quentin Crisp
Directed by Sally Potter
Review by Carl McColman

This is one of those films that rewards repeated viewings. I recently saw it for the third time (having seen it in the theater in 1993, and later on when it first came out on DVD), and with each subsequent viewing I laugh harder, find more to think about, and am generally more entranced by the wondrously magical world that director Sally Potter has conjured out of Virginia Woolf’s gender-bending pirouette through four centuries of English history, culture, and literature.

Tilda Swinton (who in 2005 wowed the mainstream with her performance as the White Witch Jadis in the big-screen adaptation of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) is Orlando, whom we first meet as a delicate young lad at the end of the sixteenth century, a favorite of Queen Elizabeth (brilliantly played by Quentin Crisp). The playful erotic tension between the queen (an old woman, portrayed by a man) and the hero (a young man, portrayed by a woman) alone makes this a fun and worthwhile movie to explore. But the sexual deconstruction of the movie’s opening act really is just an hors-d’oeuvre to whet the appetite for the increasingly layered, enigmatic, yet ultimately pointedly feminist story that will unravel, with 400 years of British vanity and irony crammed into 93 cinematic minutes.

As a favorite of the Virgin Queen, Orlando is given the gift of the beautiful country house in which he lives with his family. But there’s a catch: Elizabeth exhorts the boy to never grow old and never fade. This he does, like some British cousin to the Tuck Everlasting clan, agelessly wandering through the ages, exploring such themes as death, love, poetry, politics, society and sex. In many ways Orlando is simply a metaphor for British literature, and so as the eighteenth century yields to the nineteenth (and the so-called Enlightenment insists that science is the only “manly” pursuit, relegating poetry to the “affectations” of women). Orlando wakes one morning and, in a luminously filmed scene of transcendent wonder, discovers the he is now a she. But not to worry: this climactic moment is given a twist by Swinton’s brilliantly deadpan delivery of her ironic first thoughts as a woman: “Same person. No difference at all… just a different sex.”

But if Orlando was troubled by gender politics as a man, she soon finds out just how much worse things get now that she has no penis to shield her from the brunt of her culture’s mindless sexism. Not only is she trivialised and dismissed, but the powers that be set their sights on her house, which, after all, cannot be owned by a mere female. Undaunted, Orlando proceeds to revel in the sensual pleasures of being a woman (joined by Billy Zane as her eye-worthy lover), and as she wanders through the World War I era battlefields into the twentieth century, she discovers just where her power really lies in relation to the past.

Filled with memorable images and playing out like an extended dream sequence, Orlando may not appeal to those who want the films to combine non-stop action with a simple and easy-to-follow storyline. But fans of Virginia Woolf’s darkly visionary prose ought to find plenty to cheer about in this film, as will anyone interested in the subtle relationships between society and the arts (and how gender politics intersect with both of those vectors). Just remember: be prepared to watch it more than once.