James Alison's lecture about "Worship in a Violent World"
is one of those little appreciated essays for theological reflection.
As a liturgical theologian, I'm often struck by how boring our worship
actually is. When people complain to me that worship is boring, I want
to say to them, along with Alison: "It's supposed to be boring. Or at
least seriously underwhelming. It's long term education in becoming
un-excited".I was struck yesterday afternoon about how exciting our politics is supposed to be. In fact, there's little to keep it tame. More often than not, American political rallies look like Nuremburg rallies to me. Everything around us -- from political debates to advertising to social media -- attempts to whip us into a frenzy. A frenzy that, more often than not, is directed against others. Cable news, talk radio and political blogging are basically a Nuremberg rally, an attempt to anger us and excite us with propaganda. In the face of all this excitement and frenzy, Christian worship, according to Alison, should function as a sort of counter-propaganda, a place where we can become unexcited. Where others are whipped into an anxious or angry frenzy, Christians should be bored.
As a contemplative Christian, I'm also far more French about my politics. Instead of Nuremburg, think the resistance to Nazi Germany in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. Think about Jesus, who insisted that to follow him Christians should be "in, but not of" the world. Resistance to the tyranny of frenzy is rough, but it's the hard work of those who realize this is a battle between life and death, with powers and principalities that demand allegiance in far more subtle and brutal ways than German dictators and their regimes.
Sure, I doubt many of us will be killed for being Christians. But our society is increasingly complacent about economic injustice, excessive consumerism, environmental degradation and the tolerance of both criminal and military violence, can credibly be said to be under "enemy occupation". Following Pogo, we know that when we meet the enemy, it's us! The forces of violence, injustice and alienation that undermine our lives come not from an external invasion, but from the woundedness found within us all.
More and more of us seem to know that something is off kilter. Think the Tea Party or the OWS Movements in the US. Or protests in Britain and Greece. Or the Muslim Spring. Forces of greed demand our collaboration. Inequality characterizes our culture. And yet, the frenzy of our politics keeps us distracted from the real work that needs to be done. Resistance isn't futile, but it does demand focus. Contemplation. And, dare I call it, prayer.
We rightly recoil from Nazism not only for its racism and violence, but because it was a totalitarian system of government; such systems inevitably create more problems than they solve. So the solution to our current quagmire is not to impose some sort of top-down measure of control. And this is where contemplation comes in.
Bonhoeffer wrote his little book on the Psalms in order to point out the necessity of withdrawing from the world's current order, embracing a revolution of humility and love and refusing to fight with the same weapons of might and violence. Only by "dropping out" of the system-as-usual by the-powers-that-be can we overcome. And that's going to require a new way of living. A way that pushes off the frenzy of our politics. Contemplation and quiet -- that's this new way.
That's the way of reconciliation rather than violence, of shared resources rather than enforced inequity, a way of simply and quietly living rather than getting caught up in the ever-increasing frenzy of acquisition and competition. Such values are the fruit of contemplation. They are the values that monasteries embody, if imperfectly. They are the values of resistance.
What's a good model for this boredom revolution? Think monks.
That's right. The monastic reformation of the early Church. The first Christian monks, during the age of the Desert Hermits, understood their austere lives as a form of resistance against the evils of the Roman Empire. Today, all contemplatives -- not just monks and nuns -- are likewise called into the splendor of God's silence, not for the purpose of mere personal enlightenment, but as a way of engaging with the most toxic elements of the world in which we live -- seeking to transform that world through prayer and compassion.
I know this idea is not popular among my progressive friends. Because it means we don't need to wait for "The Revolution" to topple "The System". Instead, it's something that can begin right now. Just in how we relate to one another. Rather than "smashing the State", all we need to do is "opt out". Refuse to participate according to the rules. Refuse to be caught up in the glitz and glamor and frenzy. So we can begin by refusing to give any positive energy to that State -- by not voting, lobbying or even saying the pledge.
Whatever you think about those acts, what interests me most in this boredom revolution that I'm proposing: The notion of "opting out", of refusing to participate by refusing any positive energy into the System. Instead, we opt in to acts of kindness and humility, simple acts of relating to one another more humanely.
Lots of Christians are taught not to think of these things as prayer. Our acts of charity and kindness are seen more as moral obligations than acts of genuine prayer. But, if we take Jesus seriously, that's not a good way to see our praying. My proposal of opting in to a boredom revolution places prayer back onto a contemplative footing. Because it's a quiet reflection on where we might encounter God. Such resistance is really a theological anarchism. It's a counter-propaganda to the frenzy we get from our modern nation-states.
So, in light of all this, I'm proposing a boredom revolution. As the hype continues to escalate -- to near-Nuremburg levels, whipping us into a political and social frenzy and hysteria -- I'm proposing that we work on the virtues of resistance.
Opt out, drop out, and express a boredom with it all.