I started reading the Bible all the way through with The Magnificast discord group and a question came up about how to view some of the more difficult passages while still being faithful to one's religious tradition and not anachronistically insert one's personal preferences and values into those texts. It got me thinking about my own approach.
Coming from a non-religious background and growing into a perennialist, my approach is to treat sacred texts on a whole as historical, mythological, and mystical texts. I see in them stories used to express certain ideas, point in certain directions, and provide certain justifications for what was happening in the present.
From the historical POV, I see some of their culture and beliefs and what they were trying to do and say in a particular period in time, which was often the voice of a certain priestly caste that had authority or which became an authority. I see them as they see themselves. From the mythological POV, I see some of their explanations for the hows and whys, the logic underlying their particular religious beliefs and practices, as well as justifications for them. I see their expressions of the connection between the divine and us. And in the mystical, I see the deeper underlying threads, the places where people have touched or glimpsed ultimate reality, where God is heard most clearly. And in all of these texts, including the Torah, there are multiple voices all weaved together presenting a tapestry of thousands of years of culture, history, and evolving thoughts as people deal with the contradictions they face, finding new syntheses and ways through into new ideas and experiences and contradictions.
I see a dialectical relationship. And these texts are all of these things presented to us in a relatively linear narrative meant to preserve the past, remind the present, and inspire the future. In all of these texts, from every religious tradition, there are difficult things, ugly things, that are hard to reconcile with the beautiful parts. But they reflect us and what we're struggling with and trying to overcome as human beings, what some call our sinful nature, our shadow self, or what others would call the poisons of greed, hatred, and delusion. So of course, in our attempts to reach towards the divine or be touched by it, we make mistakes and misunderstand and even do harm in the name of the good. And even though these texts may be inspired by God and contain truth, they're written by people that know both good and evil, who speak both truth and lies, who have their own agendas and desires which aren't necessarily pointing towards God but to their own worldly power and control.
These texts and our relationship to them are rich and complicated, and I feel comfortable finding in them what touches me and help nurtures/deepens my 'theology' without necessarily forcing my theology into them and vice versa. I accept them and learn from them, but I'm also far removed from many of these times and places and certain things may not be as relevant as they once were.
Friday, January 12, 2024
Sunday, August 20, 2023
8/20/23
Today's gospel reading was Matthew 15:10-28. It's one of the more interesting and theologically deep passages—its encounters are complex and full of contradictions that find their resolution in the growing understanding and compassion of Christ. It shows a Jesus who's fully human and fully divine, a Jesus who's a hypocrite and a Jesus who heals. It shows a Jesus who's part of the dominant culture and a Jesus who's marginalized. It shows a Jesus who ignores and insults and a Jesus who learns and grows and expands his vision.
Just before his encounter with the Canaanite woman, Jesus attacks the misunderstanding of religious purity laws, making the point that it's our intentions and what comes from the heart that defiles us or makes us clean, not eating with unwashed or washed hands. The religious elites are upset at this apparent transgression of Jewish law by Jesus' followers, but Jesus calls them hypocrites and says they are like the blind leading the blind. Jesus is then approached by a Canaanite woman, who asks Jesus to heal her daughter. Jesus has healed many others, after all, and she believes in his mission, so why not heal her child as well? Jesus first turns a blind eye to her and her suffering, not even deigning to answer her. The woman persists and refuses to leave. Jesus then says his mission and priority is to the lost sheep of Israel. Yet the woman persists and continues to ask for help. Jesus then insults her by comparing her and her people, the indigenous inhabitants of Palestine which the Jews held in low regard, to dogs in his retort, "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs." And yet, once again, showing endurance and love and wisdom beyond that of even the great rabbi himself it would seem, the woman persists and turns Jesus' metaphor around on him in her own reply that "even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters." Jesus then praises her faith and heals her daughter.
In many ways, Jesus represents the dominant culture people: he's a male in a patriarchal society, he's a Jew in a land claimed by his people and colonized by them, and he's a religious authority among a people whose lives revolve around their faith. And Jesus seemingly treats this woman accordingly despite all of the things he preached earlier during the Sermon on the Mount, including loving your enemies and the golden rule. But in others, Jesus himself is marginalized: his people are under the domination of the Romans, he's poor, and he's being judged and persecuted by the religious and state leaders of Judea.
Jesus chastizes and criticizes the religious elite for their hypocrisy and lack of understanding, time and again highlighting that the truly religious person helps others, loves others, and treats others as they would wish to be treated themselves, especially the marginalized. Jesus calls them blind in their understanding and example. And yet when confronted with a woman who Jesus has likely been socially conditioned to look down upon, he ignores her and then insults her as if her suffering and that of her daughter meant nothing to him. Yet this woman seemingly becomes his teacher and not only turns his insult around on him, but opens his eyes to his own privilege and hypocrisy, shining a light upon his ignorance and closed heart. And to his credit, he doesn't shut her down but listens, stays present, and in that moment, seemingly grows and expands his vision, being converted and transformed by her faith. Yes, Jesus is fully human, and as such, Jesus has very human characteristics and prejudices despite his deep and intimate connection with God. But Jesus also learns and grows like every human does and he becomes better and his mission broader to include all people. And just as the Trinity is relational and incarnate in all creation, that nature is mirrored in this relational moment between Jesus and the unnamed Canaanite woman, a dialectical spirit present throughout the course of human history.
This exchange reveals the humanness of Jesus in the midst of his divinity. It challenges dominant culture social relations, past, present, and future. It highlights the importance of intention and quality of one's heart vs. adherence to rites and rituals. It expresses the sacredness of everyone, especially the marginalized. It illustrates our potential for growth. And it's a representation of the power of relationships, which filters down from the divine template of creation in the form of the Trinity all the way to human interactions and beyond.
Just before his encounter with the Canaanite woman, Jesus attacks the misunderstanding of religious purity laws, making the point that it's our intentions and what comes from the heart that defiles us or makes us clean, not eating with unwashed or washed hands. The religious elites are upset at this apparent transgression of Jewish law by Jesus' followers, but Jesus calls them hypocrites and says they are like the blind leading the blind. Jesus is then approached by a Canaanite woman, who asks Jesus to heal her daughter. Jesus has healed many others, after all, and she believes in his mission, so why not heal her child as well? Jesus first turns a blind eye to her and her suffering, not even deigning to answer her. The woman persists and refuses to leave. Jesus then says his mission and priority is to the lost sheep of Israel. Yet the woman persists and continues to ask for help. Jesus then insults her by comparing her and her people, the indigenous inhabitants of Palestine which the Jews held in low regard, to dogs in his retort, "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs." And yet, once again, showing endurance and love and wisdom beyond that of even the great rabbi himself it would seem, the woman persists and turns Jesus' metaphor around on him in her own reply that "even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters." Jesus then praises her faith and heals her daughter.
In many ways, Jesus represents the dominant culture people: he's a male in a patriarchal society, he's a Jew in a land claimed by his people and colonized by them, and he's a religious authority among a people whose lives revolve around their faith. And Jesus seemingly treats this woman accordingly despite all of the things he preached earlier during the Sermon on the Mount, including loving your enemies and the golden rule. But in others, Jesus himself is marginalized: his people are under the domination of the Romans, he's poor, and he's being judged and persecuted by the religious and state leaders of Judea.
Jesus chastizes and criticizes the religious elite for their hypocrisy and lack of understanding, time and again highlighting that the truly religious person helps others, loves others, and treats others as they would wish to be treated themselves, especially the marginalized. Jesus calls them blind in their understanding and example. And yet when confronted with a woman who Jesus has likely been socially conditioned to look down upon, he ignores her and then insults her as if her suffering and that of her daughter meant nothing to him. Yet this woman seemingly becomes his teacher and not only turns his insult around on him, but opens his eyes to his own privilege and hypocrisy, shining a light upon his ignorance and closed heart. And to his credit, he doesn't shut her down but listens, stays present, and in that moment, seemingly grows and expands his vision, being converted and transformed by her faith. Yes, Jesus is fully human, and as such, Jesus has very human characteristics and prejudices despite his deep and intimate connection with God. But Jesus also learns and grows like every human does and he becomes better and his mission broader to include all people. And just as the Trinity is relational and incarnate in all creation, that nature is mirrored in this relational moment between Jesus and the unnamed Canaanite woman, a dialectical spirit present throughout the course of human history.
This exchange reveals the humanness of Jesus in the midst of his divinity. It challenges dominant culture social relations, past, present, and future. It highlights the importance of intention and quality of one's heart vs. adherence to rites and rituals. It expresses the sacredness of everyone, especially the marginalized. It illustrates our potential for growth. And it's a representation of the power of relationships, which filters down from the divine template of creation in the form of the Trinity all the way to human interactions and beyond.
Tuesday, July 4, 2023
7/4/23
I wrote my own version of the Apostle's and Nicene creeds respectively:
And:
I mainly did it because I wanted to create something that reflected my faith and understanding better and utilized more universal language.
I believe in God, the ground of being;
and in Christ Jesus, light of the world,
who was born of the Holy Spirit and the Blessed Mary,
who lived amongst the poor, the disinherited, and the dispossessed,
who preached the liberating love of God, fed the hungry, healed the sick, and restored communities,
who under state oppression was executed and buried,
on the third day he rose again from the dead,
ascended to heaven,
returning to the One,
and whose example and teachings continue to guide and inspire us;
and in the Holy Spirit,
the universal church,
the remission of sins,
the communion of the saints,
the liberation of mind and body,
and life everlasting. Amen.
And:
I believe in God, the ground of being, the sustainer of all things,
and in Jesus Christ, child of God, light of the world,
who was suffused with the holy spirit, born of the blessed Mary, lived amongst the poor, the disinherited, and the dispossessed, preached the liberating love of God,
fed the hungry, healed the sick, and loved all of humanity,
suffered under state violence, was executed, died, and was buried,
he descended into Hades and broke open its doors; on the third day he rose again from the dead;
he ascended into Deathlessness, and is one with God, the source of all being;
and whose example and teachings continue to guide and inspire us.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy universal church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the liberation of mind and body, and life everlasting. Amen.
I mainly did it because I wanted to create something that reflected my faith and understanding better and utilized more universal language.
Sunday, July 2, 2023
7/2/23
I had one of the most moving and profound religious experiences of my life today. I went to Spirit of Grace and a retired Catholic priest who, perhaps unfairly, gives me weird vibes was presiding. But during the homily, given by Director Vinci, and the rather inclusive liturgy of the Eucharist, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time, if ever. Between their words and my own internal reaching towards the infinite, I honestly felt like God was actually there with me/us in that moment and it gave me waves of chills and an overwhelming feeling that completely washed over me. Usually I might be moved by a homily or service, but I don't ever feel something profound taking place. Certainly not like that. It may have just been a psychophysical reaction, but it was an amazing experience. I didn't write down anything in the moment, so the precise theme and words allude me now, but for a brief moment, I felt the presence of God and it literally moved me to tears.
Thursday, June 29, 2023
6/29/23
A thought I had today after watching an episode of Succession:
Money is a social construct; but with enough of it, you can construct society in your image. But that image, more often than not born out of greed and a lust for power, becomes corrupted, becomes an idol, a false god, a master that you serve over others. It becomes a blasphemy against all things good. The love of money is the root of all evil, and we pierce ourselves and one another with many sorrows because of it.
Coincidentally, after I wrote this, someone on the Magnificast discord server posted this link from Twitter, which seemed synchronistic to say the least.
The caption reads:
Money is a social construct; but with enough of it, you can construct society in your image. But that image, more often than not born out of greed and a lust for power, becomes corrupted, becomes an idol, a false god, a master that you serve over others. It becomes a blasphemy against all things good. The love of money is the root of all evil, and we pierce ourselves and one another with many sorrows because of it.
Coincidentally, after I wrote this, someone on the Magnificast discord server posted this link from Twitter, which seemed synchronistic to say the least.
Moses: "What a strange thing. I thought I had smashed the golden calf to bits, but it's still alive and ruling the world." Karl Marx: "Don't worry, Comrade Moyshe. Once the students of my Torah smash the calf, it will never be resurrected from the dead."
Sunday, June 4, 2023
6/4/23
Today was Trinity Sunday, and for the first Sunday in pride month, Pastor Robyn gave a homily on the diverse language about God in the bible and early church literature, making the case that the expression of the trinity in both representation and reality is genderly diverse and, in my words, queer.
Despite God — as the ground of being — not having a sex or gender, modern western language about God throughout literature and liturgy focuses almost exclusively on the masculine and, in the process, makes the feminine subordinate, which has had the unfortunate effect of supporting patriarchal theology and social relations. The default, of course, has been to gender God as male, but the language used to talk about God varies from the masculine to the feminine and even plural/gender neutral, thus our theology of God, Truth, Nature, Ultimate Reality, etc., should reflect that.
For example, beyond being spoken of using masculine pronouns and as a father, God is also described as a woman in labor (Isaiah 42:14), a nursing mother (Isaiah 49:15), a comforting mother (Isaiah 66:13), a mother bear (Hosea 13:8), a mother bird sheltering her children (Ruth 2:12), etc., and in the story of creation creates humanity male and female in their (plural) image (Gen 1:26-27). The Hebrew words for the wisdom (chokmah) and spirit (ruach) of God are feminine, while the Greek word for spirit (pneuma) is neutral. Jesus compares himself to a mother hen (Mt 23:37), and many early church leaders spoke of God and Jesus in more than masculine terms. An early liturgical work, Odes of Solomon, portrays God as the mother of believers (and all of humanity), nurturing them with holy milk (8:17). Clement of Alexandria writes of Jesus, "The Word [Christ] is all to the child, both father and mother and tutor and nurse" (The Instructor). John Chrysostom's Christ says, "Be thou in need of nothing, I will be even a servant, for I came to minister, not to be ministered unto; I am friend, and member, and head, and brother, and sister, and mother; I am all; only cling thou closely to me" (Homilies on Matthew, 76). Anselm, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Julian of Norwich, among others, also compare Jesus to a mother.
All of this serves to highlight that the imagery and understanding of God historically transcends the simplistic and patriarchal presentation we're often presented with, illustrating that God both transcends gender while simultaneously encompassing all modes of gender. And our understanding should, too. The trinity represents the relational and diverse nature of reality; and to more clearly perceive that reality, we must love and accept it in all its multiplicity because love is our first principle.
Richard Rohr has often described the trinity as a circular dance and the deepest flow of life, and that each 'person' of the trinity relates by "living in an eternal self-emptying (kenosis), which allows each of them to let go completely and give themselves to the other. They are simultaneously loving and totally loveable, one to another." And that love is the very nature and shape of divine being: "This deep flow is then the pattern of the whole universe, and any idea of God’s 'wrath' or of God withholding what is an infinitely outflowing love is theologically impossible. Love is the very pattern with which we start and the goal toward which we move. It gives energy to the entire universe, from orbiting protons and neutrons to the social and sexual life of species, to the planets and stars. We were indeed created in communion, by communion, and for communion (Genesis 1:26 calls it being 'created in the image and likeness of God')."
The universe is alive with love, and any theology expressing its nature can't limit our understanding or our expression of love without doing violence to nature itself.
Despite God — as the ground of being — not having a sex or gender, modern western language about God throughout literature and liturgy focuses almost exclusively on the masculine and, in the process, makes the feminine subordinate, which has had the unfortunate effect of supporting patriarchal theology and social relations. The default, of course, has been to gender God as male, but the language used to talk about God varies from the masculine to the feminine and even plural/gender neutral, thus our theology of God, Truth, Nature, Ultimate Reality, etc., should reflect that.
For example, beyond being spoken of using masculine pronouns and as a father, God is also described as a woman in labor (Isaiah 42:14), a nursing mother (Isaiah 49:15), a comforting mother (Isaiah 66:13), a mother bear (Hosea 13:8), a mother bird sheltering her children (Ruth 2:12), etc., and in the story of creation creates humanity male and female in their (plural) image (Gen 1:26-27). The Hebrew words for the wisdom (chokmah) and spirit (ruach) of God are feminine, while the Greek word for spirit (pneuma) is neutral. Jesus compares himself to a mother hen (Mt 23:37), and many early church leaders spoke of God and Jesus in more than masculine terms. An early liturgical work, Odes of Solomon, portrays God as the mother of believers (and all of humanity), nurturing them with holy milk (8:17). Clement of Alexandria writes of Jesus, "The Word [Christ] is all to the child, both father and mother and tutor and nurse" (The Instructor). John Chrysostom's Christ says, "Be thou in need of nothing, I will be even a servant, for I came to minister, not to be ministered unto; I am friend, and member, and head, and brother, and sister, and mother; I am all; only cling thou closely to me" (Homilies on Matthew, 76). Anselm, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Julian of Norwich, among others, also compare Jesus to a mother.
All of this serves to highlight that the imagery and understanding of God historically transcends the simplistic and patriarchal presentation we're often presented with, illustrating that God both transcends gender while simultaneously encompassing all modes of gender. And our understanding should, too. The trinity represents the relational and diverse nature of reality; and to more clearly perceive that reality, we must love and accept it in all its multiplicity because love is our first principle.
Richard Rohr has often described the trinity as a circular dance and the deepest flow of life, and that each 'person' of the trinity relates by "living in an eternal self-emptying (kenosis), which allows each of them to let go completely and give themselves to the other. They are simultaneously loving and totally loveable, one to another." And that love is the very nature and shape of divine being: "This deep flow is then the pattern of the whole universe, and any idea of God’s 'wrath' or of God withholding what is an infinitely outflowing love is theologically impossible. Love is the very pattern with which we start and the goal toward which we move. It gives energy to the entire universe, from orbiting protons and neutrons to the social and sexual life of species, to the planets and stars. We were indeed created in communion, by communion, and for communion (Genesis 1:26 calls it being 'created in the image and likeness of God')."
The universe is alive with love, and any theology expressing its nature can't limit our understanding or our expression of love without doing violence to nature itself.
Wednesday, March 29, 2023
3/26/23
A fellow leftist Christian recently said, "I've long since made my bed alongside Dostoyevsky saying something to the effect, 'even if it were incontrovertibly proven to me that Jesus was not the Christ, still I would choose to believe in him.' Because for me faith in this arena is never based on the veracity of an historical theory but on a choice." But the same person also then asked, "What does it mean to believe in Christ while adhering to a materialist conception of history?" Indeed, how can one be both a Christian and a materialist at the same time? Do they just shrug and say, like Whitman, 'so I contradict myself! Contradiction is the bugaboo of mankind'? It's a question worth pondering, and it got me thinking about my own answer as both a Christian and someone who adheres to a materialist conception of history with leftist politics.
There's a line from Brian Sanderson's novel Oathbringer I rather like: "One can believe in a story without believing it happened." It's a powerful statement that holds a lot of truth. I can't count the number of stories I've read that have deeply affected me over the years, many shaping the very person I am today because of how much I believed in it and its message. The story of Jesus is no different. While I believe much of the story of Jesus is true, I'm also ok if it's not because of how it inspires me to think and act, along with the hope it instills and the support of its teachings designed to help make us more loving to all of creation, even if we're not always loved back by it in return.
As I wrote on Christmas (I definitely like repeating myself):
All that said, God is also the ground of being and the laws of nature underlying the causal relationships present throughout the universe—i.e., mental and physical actions and results, causes and effects, etc. And historical materialism is simply the study of the material causes and conditions that shape human society and the ways we're encouraged (and forcefully prodded) to think and live, as well as who benefits from and suffers under those social relations. Here, Jesus is clearly on the side of making those social relations egalitarian and challenging the authority of exploitative classes, while his story emphasizes the ways in which God works with us and through us if we truly know and embody love.
There are undoubtedly mystical and supranatural elements to his story that point towards something that lies beyond our material world — to what we call God, transcendence, ultimate reality, the divine, the unconditioned, etc. — and our ability to achieve union with the divine, from his contemplative and intimate connection with God and frequent times of solitary prayer to the miracles he performed such as walking on water, healing the sick, multiplying food for the hungry, and raising the dead, including his own resurrection after being executed by the state in a method reserved for those who opposed the authority of Rome in some shape or form. His own resurrection story may have been literal or simply expressing the resurrection of what he lived and died for in the lives of those who carried on his message, but many seem to miss his mission here on earth and the way he represents God manifest in human form, acting within history. As David Inczauskis, SJ writes, "Many Christians, jumping straight to spiritual reality, transcendence, and the afterlife, forget that God reveals in matter, in this world, in history. They look to the sky for a God who came to earth." Whichever way we may choose to view the resurrection narrative, whether as history or myth, the story of Jesus is ultimately the story of a human being embodying the presence of the divine on earth who bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete by centering their spiritual message on how we treat one another (particularly the poor and marginalized), and hence the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "suppose the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
Jesus' life and teachings stress unequivocally that our beliefs and convictions in a 'heavenly kin-dom' should be reflected in our actions; and our actions shouldn't cause harm, but act as seeds for happiness and liberation. That to me is what matters most. Because whatever happens after this life is over, if we live righteously right here and now, then not only will this world be left a little better than we found it after we're gone, but we've also served to store up treasure in heaven.
There's a line from Brian Sanderson's novel Oathbringer I rather like: "One can believe in a story without believing it happened." It's a powerful statement that holds a lot of truth. I can't count the number of stories I've read that have deeply affected me over the years, many shaping the very person I am today because of how much I believed in it and its message. The story of Jesus is no different. While I believe much of the story of Jesus is true, I'm also ok if it's not because of how it inspires me to think and act, along with the hope it instills and the support of its teachings designed to help make us more loving to all of creation, even if we're not always loved back by it in return.
As I wrote on Christmas (I definitely like repeating myself):
When I read the bible, what I see is the story of a people who, on the one hand, are struggling with the world they live in, full of greed, oppression, and violence, yet dreaming of a world that's filled with equality, abundance, and peace. It's a story of historical progress towards something better and the successes and failures that a particular people found worth telling and remembering. And Jesus himself embodies the spirit of this dream. His name means "God liberates" or "God is liberation." His message was destined to be revolutionary, as Mary proclaims in Luke 1:52-53, "He pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and he leaves the rich with nothing." His birth was announced to poor workers (shepherds), not the wealthy or kings. His life was spent trying to bring a new and more egalitarian world into being through acts like healing the sick, feeding the hungry, opposing economic exploitation, chastising the rich and distributing their wealth to those in need, and working to bring those on the margins back into the heart of the community. He opposed Roman imperialism, religious hypocrisy, persecution, and violence. He spoke of compassion, forgiveness, universal kinship, and loving our neighbours as ourselves, making concern for others the entry fee to the kingdom of heaven. And he did all of this because he was inspired by universal love and compassion for the human condition.
It's a dream that I share, and just as this revolutionary spirit helped guide the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt, I believe it'll also help guide all of us out of the bondage of our current system that's idolized and globalized greed, oppression, and violence. And for me, Christ is a living symbol of that spirit.
That spirit is also present in many other places, like social and political movements and monasteries—the former reflecting the active aspects of revolution and the latter reflecting the contemplative aspects and desired outcomes of equality and community. I think Ernesto Cardenal touches upon these contradictions and their synthesis when he wrote In Cuba:
At breakfast some Marxists asked me about our community at Solentiname. I explained that we try to lead a life in common, with no "thine" or "mine," a life of voluntary poverty—free from the desire for money and from the demands of a society of consumption. We live in brotherly union, all working for the community. We are all equal. And then I stopped. I understood that what may seem very novel in the capitalistic world is a daily reality in Cuba. (I couldn't talk to them about prayer because it would be misinterpreted, and I wouldn’t know how to explain mystic union to people who don't believe in God.) I was afraid that they were going to ask me what need there is for such communities in a socialist society. At that moment I would not have known what to say.
I kept thinking of the question that the young Marxists might have asked me. It seems to me that in a perfect socialist society it would not be necessary to "flee from the world" in order to live the Gospel. In any case, the material life of those communities would be the same as that of all the others. And I remembered what St. John Chrysostom said (in a letter to a rich man): "If cities were Christian, monasteries would be unnecessary."
For me, God is love. God liberates. God is the spirit of revolution. And Christ loves. Christ is a liberator. Christ is a revolutionary. And as Marcus Borg wrote, Christ "revealed what can be seen of God in a human life" through his words and actions. So I consider myself Christian because I follow Christ's example—not the Christianity of imperialism, wealth, white supremacy, etc., but the revolutionary Christianity of Jesus and the liberation of the poor and oppressed.
All that said, God is also the ground of being and the laws of nature underlying the causal relationships present throughout the universe—i.e., mental and physical actions and results, causes and effects, etc. And historical materialism is simply the study of the material causes and conditions that shape human society and the ways we're encouraged (and forcefully prodded) to think and live, as well as who benefits from and suffers under those social relations. Here, Jesus is clearly on the side of making those social relations egalitarian and challenging the authority of exploitative classes, while his story emphasizes the ways in which God works with us and through us if we truly know and embody love.
There are undoubtedly mystical and supranatural elements to his story that point towards something that lies beyond our material world — to what we call God, transcendence, ultimate reality, the divine, the unconditioned, etc. — and our ability to achieve union with the divine, from his contemplative and intimate connection with God and frequent times of solitary prayer to the miracles he performed such as walking on water, healing the sick, multiplying food for the hungry, and raising the dead, including his own resurrection after being executed by the state in a method reserved for those who opposed the authority of Rome in some shape or form. His own resurrection story may have been literal or simply expressing the resurrection of what he lived and died for in the lives of those who carried on his message, but many seem to miss his mission here on earth and the way he represents God manifest in human form, acting within history. As David Inczauskis, SJ writes, "Many Christians, jumping straight to spiritual reality, transcendence, and the afterlife, forget that God reveals in matter, in this world, in history. They look to the sky for a God who came to earth." Whichever way we may choose to view the resurrection narrative, whether as history or myth, the story of Jesus is ultimately the story of a human being embodying the presence of the divine on earth who bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete by centering their spiritual message on how we treat one another (particularly the poor and marginalized), and hence the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "suppose the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
Jesus' life and teachings stress unequivocally that our beliefs and convictions in a 'heavenly kin-dom' should be reflected in our actions; and our actions shouldn't cause harm, but act as seeds for happiness and liberation. That to me is what matters most. Because whatever happens after this life is over, if we live righteously right here and now, then not only will this world be left a little better than we found it after we're gone, but we've also served to store up treasure in heaven.
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