Faith and Desire

Last year, I wrote a blog post on the Bethel School for Supernatural Ministry, a training ground for a charismatic/ecstatic version of Christian faith. Honestly, it seems harmless enough, although I was a teensy bit skeptical about how...you know...actually supernatural it is. Since then, that post is the post that keeps on giving. It doesn't see a great deal of traffic, but it gets visited all the time, as folks seeking that school get pitched my blog post. Yay Google.

A few defenders of the school have laid into me about my admittedly playful assessment of Bethel, and the last one said something that got me to thinking. I was talking about things I had no clue about, said he. How could I? I haven't experienced them. He noted I had never been on a "treasure hunt." By that, I think he refers to the practice, taught at Bethel, of praying for flashes of precognition, and then going out and finding something that relates to that insight. Well, no. No I haven't. My practices are more ongoing and esoteric. He also noted that I'd never been ministered Sozo or Shabar. That is also true. And no, that doesn't involve being prayed over by Sozo the Clown and Shabar the Elephant. It's a set of spiritual intervention tools used by Bethel to get people into what they view as a healthy place spiritually. Hopefully, those tools don't mention Thetans. Pesky, pesky Thetans.

I don't buy the assertion that you can't make value statements about something that you haven't actively participated in. Not for a moment. That's the point and purpose of both our God-given intelligence, our imagination, and the gift of discernment.

Within that statement, though, there was a stirring of a kernel of truth about faith. Faith...the orientation of the self to that which transcends us...isn't something that can be taught the same way you teach algebra or a foreign language. It can't be hammered into someone by rote, or coerced with the threat of bad grades and no television for a week. It is not a question of internalizing and memorizing a set of data. It has little to do with intelligence.

It is a question of experiencing desire.

Without the desire for God, God cannot be perceived. That's a challenge that faces us oldliners, as we teach our faith in ways that are indistinguishable from secular scholarship, and end up with a generation turning up their noses at our plate of stale bread. That's also the challenge that faces evangelicals and fundamentalists, who mistakenly assume that quoting Scripture at people who lack any desire for God will do anything other than piss them off.

If you don't feel the yearning, you won't seek. And if you don't seek, you sure ain't gonna find. That's just not how it works.

First Presbyterian Church of Nowhere

In a conversation with one of my church folk the other week, we were going over the list of primary assets of our earnest but struggling little community. For her, the A-Number-One asset was our building. It's a big and architecturally complicated modernist structure, a building most notable for not having a single right angle where the walls meet. It can be a bit disorienting for new folks. There's a sizable fellowship hall, a cavernous sanctuary, and the requisite slew of bathrooms and multipurpose midsize classrooms. If we we a community of 150-200, it might seem like an asset.

But mostly, over the course of my six years in the ministry here, it's seemed like a) a constant distraction and/or b) a serious pain in the [tushie]. The old roof that leaked had to be replaced in the first three years I was there. The insanely expensive cedar ceilings that had been made to order for the pastor who built the church proved unusually tasty for termites, and many sections of the subroofing were structurally unsound. The AC system that failed every other week needed to be replaced. Energies that desperately needed to be put into the mission of the church were slurped up by the facilities. The endowment that stands as the only reason this ministry continues was tapped, again and again, to keep the building from falling in on itself. It's a common story in struggling institutional churches, but even knowing that doesn't allow you to escape a building's gravitational pull.

This last Wednesday, our cleaning person informed me that the sanctuary stank of sulphur, a sign that either a flatulent Lucifer was paying us a visit or we had a natural gas leak. I went down into the boiler room, where the stench was overpowering. The boiler itself was struggling to light with deep thrumming gasps, as flames belched out around the sides, flickered, died, and belched out again. Emergency calls were made. Emergency kill switches were thrown. Repairs were attempted late into the evening, and a patch put into place.

This last Friday, with a bonafide blizzard bearing down on the city, the temporary patch job on the boiler failed. Again, the stench of gas. Emergency kills switches were again thrown. But though repair efforts went into the early evening, the system couldn't be safely reactivated. So with a week of freezing temperatures ahead of us, the building was without heat. Every portable heater the church owned was given to the preschool/nursery that uses our space, so that the little ones wouldn't freeze before their parents arrived to pick them up.

As we roll into this important week in the life of the church, I find myself wondering about the necessity of buildings and edifices and facilities. Most of what is important about the faith..fellowship/worship/mission/study/service...could be accomplished without a big ol' honkin' building. A collective of little house ministries could manage to get that done, with resources being poured not into building, but into mission.

Sure, a physical church makes some things easier, like hosting events or opening up space for service to the community. Food pantries and clothing closets and mentoring/support ministries really do benefit from having a facility.

Still and all, on those days when the building seems like an all-consuming vortex, I feel a teeny yearning to be the organizing pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Nowhere.

Hogwarts for Christians

On days when outdoor events are potentially imperiled by rain, or snow imperils a carefully planned meeting, I often lament to my wife that I never got around to taking Meteorological Interventions 475 back when I was in seminary. I mean, dang, I know I'm only a level 4 Presbyterian Cleric. But I yearn to muster more efficacious conjurations than Bless, Detect Evil, Remove Fear, Know Alignment and Chant. I needs me some more showy spells.

Evidently, my lack of skill in this area comes because I went to the wrong school. Here I was struggling through Greek and Hebrew and poring deeply through the Bible and the history of the church. Who knew there were more potent options? Instead of Wesley Theological Seminary, I should have gone to the Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry.

I discovered that interesting little institution yesterday during a meander through the website of a well known charismatic movement. A school that teaches you how to have supernatural powers? Finally, finally, an institution that can help me level up! Flame Strike, here I come! I immediately googled them. I was both surprised and not surprised by what I found.

There were two surprises. The first was just how slickity the school's web presence was. This is not a rinky dink operation. The web page is well constructed, if non-complex. But their iBetheltv subsite is strikingly well done. It's nicely assembled series of HD videos, all of which were professionally and seamlessly edited. It's a heck of a lot more tech savvy than most of the video efforts of the major denominational institutions. Folks clearly have 1) access to a Mac and 2) some skillz.

The second surprise was that the school's leadership did not appear to be visibly insane most of the time. Folks were almost invariably well spoken, well dressed, and in possession of all of their teeth. Speakers were funny and engaging. The musicians and artists who are part of the ministry are all quite gifted, and would be a credit to any congregation's praise/arts ministries.

There were also two not-surprises. For all of my hopes, there was absolutely nothing significantly supernatural going on at the Bethel School for Supernatural Ministry. I watched a video of a healing service, which seemed like the most likely place to see some Jesus Magic. Mostly, it was people talking, singing, chanting and juddering, and then telling us about how they were sure they'd been healed. There was lots and lots of talking and crying and talking some more. But withered legs were not being visibly restored. The blind were not seeing. The deaf were not hearing. Hair loss was not being notably reversed. Cure Critical Wounds is seemingly beyond them. They seem to think they're doing stuff, but the pesky thing about hi def video is that you can actually see what is going on. And it ain't discernably supernatural.

There was also video of a required spiritual training event called "The Fire Tunnel." Yes, thought I! Flame Strike is within my grasp! But...no. All that happens during the Fire Tunnel is that folks work themselves into a shamanic frenzy. I've got nothing against lying on the ground twitching and laughing hysterically in an ecstatic trance. It's good clean pagan fun for the whole family. But it isn't a manifestation of supernatural powers. Though it's a bit of a freakshow, it's not evil, per se. I cast Detect Evil, and I get a blank. But my Know Alignment tells me that this stuff is pure Chaotic Neutral. Just no-thing-ness. It can as easily lead to good as to bad.

The second not-surprise can be gleaned from the first. This school is not meaningfully Christian. It teaches that we can all have power by immersing ourselves in "the prophetic," which is sorta like the Force. A problem: seeking power is not something Christians do. We may receive strange, unexpected, and wonderful gifts. Some are intense. Others are gentle and subtle. But desiring supernatural power over the world is not the path of Christian faith, or the gift we are all to seek.

It is, instead, the heart of our human desire for magic. We want to be able to control our world. Honestly, there's no meaningful difference between what goes on at Bethel School for Supernatural Ministry and what goes on in the Sacred Groves of Oshogbo or on some mountaintop in West Virginia on Samhain. Jes' slappin' a Jesus label on it don't make it any different. Magick is magick. And though it's exciting to get caught up in it, it just isn't the thing we think it is.

Guess I'll have to look elsewhere to level up. Sigh.