He Hasn't Even Died at Marienbad Yet
March 29, 2011
Last night, a friend emailed me the following quotation, apparently written by one of the gurus of emergent evangelicalism, or whatever it calls itself these days. He is talking about the sacraments, or so I am told:
"These rituals are true for us, because they're true for everybody. They unite us, because they unite everybody. These are signs, glimpses, and tastes of what is true for all people in all places at all times--we simply name the mystery present in all the world, the gospel already announced to every creature under heaven...He is the sacred power present in every dimension of creation"
Is this heresy? my friend asked. I do not think so. Heresy is usually quite sophisticated, actually has a meaning, and is to be taken very seriously. It is therefore to be carefully distinguished from turgid, pretentious, badly-written Bullsgeshichte, to use the technical German theological term.
Rule of thumb: if it sounds like gibberish, it usually is.
It reminded me of the Stevie Smith poem, `On the Death of a German Philosopher:'
He wrote The I and the It
He wrote The It and the Me
He died at Marienbad
And now we are all at sea.
Sometimes we are all at sea before the writer dies. Indeed, strange to tell, sometimes the writer himself is all at sea before he dies too. How tragic and sad is that? Indeed, I can honestly say that, as I read it last night, the tears were flowing down my cheeks. And they say I have no heart.
"These rituals are true for us, because they're true for everybody. They unite us, because they unite everybody. These are signs, glimpses, and tastes of what is true for all people in all places at all times--we simply name the mystery present in all the world, the gospel already announced to every creature under heaven...He is the sacred power present in every dimension of creation"
Is this heresy? my friend asked. I do not think so. Heresy is usually quite sophisticated, actually has a meaning, and is to be taken very seriously. It is therefore to be carefully distinguished from turgid, pretentious, badly-written Bullsgeshichte, to use the technical German theological term.
Rule of thumb: if it sounds like gibberish, it usually is.
It reminded me of the Stevie Smith poem, `On the Death of a German Philosopher:'
He wrote The I and the It
He wrote The It and the Me
He died at Marienbad
And now we are all at sea.
Sometimes we are all at sea before the writer dies. Indeed, strange to tell, sometimes the writer himself is all at sea before he dies too. How tragic and sad is that? Indeed, I can honestly say that, as I read it last night, the tears were flowing down my cheeks. And they say I have no heart.
