A recent (satirical) post over at Stuff Christian Culture Likes got me thinking about how wrong-headed we are about the Offertory. This post started off as a series of Facebook posts and, eventually, I realized it should be re-edited into something a bit more coherent. I owe a great deal of thanks to my liturgy professor, L. Edward Phillips, my Eucharistic theology professor, Ted Hackett, and to James K.A. Smith and Simon Chan for helping clarify my thoughts in this area over the past year.
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Ok, I get that these things might be practical (just like online giving, I guess). Sure, the clergy does need health insurance and a living wage (and yes, seminary loans are expensive, but don't get me started on the education system...). If it helps, it helps. I question, though, the wisdom (specifically, lack there of) in separating the Offertory from the Holy Eucharist. The money (et al) that we give accompanies the bread and wine, God's own gifts which we return in thanksgiving, as our participation in the Kingdom of God (over and against the earthly city-state). The Offering is an act of participation in the Holy Meal (which is why, historically, Christians sent forth food, not cash), not the divine banking system.
Let me rephrase. It's less the separation of the Offertory from the Blessed Sacrament and more the substitution of the former for the latter. The sustenance, sanctification, and continuing salvation of the Church is in the Body of Christ (especially in as much as it makes us into the Body of Christ), not the image of our various Caesars.
Especially in as much as the Table of our Risen Lord is a place where all are welcome, be they Jew or Gentile, male or female, slave or free, white or blue collar, banker or janitor, wealthy or impoverished. The Offertory isn't about squeezing every available dime through holy ATMs and consecrated iPhone apps. It is about redistributing the gifts of Christ's Church to those in need. Our blessed Church fathers and mothers weren't concerned with building campaigns, worship expenditures, or the bishop's salary. They were looking after the widow, the virgin, and the orphan. The gifts returned in the Offertory were consecrated for the service of those in need.
The Eucharist is, even today, an act of rebellion against an economy of consumption. The ecclesia (assembly) sends forth its gifts (the Offering, including the bread and wine to be consecrated) that they might be given to the Church for the support of all. Communion is, by default, communal. To remove the Offertory from the Feast is to deny its original role in service to those in need. Worse still, to so completely divorce the Offertory from the Eucharist is to marry it to the very consumerist society to which it is inherently subversive.
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For more, see James KA Smith's Cultural Liturgies series (especially Part II of Imagining the Kingdom) and Ed Phillip's forth-coming work on God and Wealth, an examination of the ritualization of monetary offerings in place of the Eucharist.
I have long been a fan of Pixar movies. They know how to tell a good story, and with style.
With that in mind, I must say that WALL E is Pixar's best movie yet.
The creators have managed to look back on the history of cinema and look forward to the future of consumerism and affluence in popular culture - in a kid's movie.
The movie starts with a bleak look at the future of earth. The camera flies over a city overrun with garbage, piles of compacted trash reaching higher than the surrounding skyscrapers, and every thing in sight is produced by the same conglomerate - "Buy N Large". This wretched landscape stands in very stark contrast to the cheerful music playing behind it. Our hero, a trash compacting robot with a pet cockroach, triggers adds as he walks by, and we discover through fading holographic videos that humanity left earth because we had so completely poisoned it.
So it goes that WALL E works day in and day out to clean up, saving little pieces of trash - a spork here, a light bulb there. But here's where Pixar shows their true brilliance. This movie is not just an environmentalist critique of our culture. WALL E is Charlie Chaplin. NPR had this to say in their review:
There's actually a nice parallel between this largely silent film and Chaplin's first sound film, Modern Times. In that one, the silent clown used the soundtrack mostly for music and effects, not for speech, just as Pixar does here. Chaplin only let you hear a human voice a couple of times, and only on some sort of mechanical contraption — say a closed-circuit TV screen — to emphasize its artificiality. It was his way of saying to the sound world, "OK, everybody's doing this talking thing now, but look how much more expressive our silent world is."
Humans are left out, except as videos, until nearly halfway through the movie. When humans do appear, they are lazy and overweight. It seems that life in space is everything it promised to be - with hover chairs, nobody moves; with video screens built into these chairs, nobody has face-to-face conversations anymore; having never seen the earth, nobody knows what "dirt" is. The film-makers took The Jetsons and decided to show what life would really be like in a world where nothing was more than a button away.
On top of the scathing critique of consumerist culture, WALL E is full of allusions to other movies. Of course, Charlie Chaplin is the inspiration for WALL E, but he looks an awful lot like Number 5 from Short Circuit. Auto, the ship's autopilot, is H.A.L. 9000 (Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey) - right down to the glowing red dot. And continuing the ode to 2001, Johann Strauss's "On der schoenen blauen Donau" and Richard Strauss's "Also sprach Zarathustra" both recieve their moments of glory in the film. Life on board the ship is somewhere between The Jetsons and Star Trek. Even the animated short (a Pixar tradition) gives a wink and a nod; the entirety of Presto is reminiscient of Bugs Bunny and a Merrie Melodies short, though Presto's magic hat resembles more closely that of the sorcerer from Fantasia.
As the credits role, we are treated to the evolution of art - from cave paintings to post-impressionist, van Gogh-esque scenes, the credits continue to show Pixar's brilliance and finish the story; the credits are a well-animated post script in a culture that walks out as soon as the credits roll.
One of the more interesting aspects is the importance of touch in this movie. WALL E spends most of the movie trying to hold EVE's hand. The humans afloat in space have become so dependent on technology that they no longer even converse face-to-face. As such, two humans (one voiced by Pixar's favorite actor, Cliff the Mailman) begin a relationship at first touch, and later rediscover the ship's pool and the joy of splashing water.
WALL E also serves as what one of my professors would call a "chaos monster". For the humans of the film, everything seems to be going fine. Not that things are fine, but nobody realizes how completely screwy things have become. Enter WALL E, who upsets the status quo - first, with the other robots, and then with the humans. As he roams the ship, everywhere he goes becomes a site of change. Like the children in Narnia, WALL E's presence disturbs those around him, awakening them from the trance-like assistance that has become life.
Pixar has a long tradition of telling stores with the lessons that need to be told - rites of passage, acceptance of yourself and others, courage, and the importance of remembering your past (seriously, who didn't get that from watching Toy Story 2?). With WALL E, Pixar has set a new standard for not only artistry, but themes in children's movies. Hopefully, other production companies will follow this shining example.
"Metal bottom makes taking of offering NOISY! Listen to the change rattle in the pot and watch the giving momentum grow!"
I found this in a Christian resource magazine. A modern Christian resource magazine. And I very nearly died laughing.
Of course, this is not a new phenomenon. It's been happening for quite some time. A few examples:
The first is the reason we are all Roman Catholic. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, a Christian could give money to the Roman church and either earn a few years off of their own stay in Purgatory or free a deceased relative from the same. For those unfamiliar with European High Medieval/Renaissance history, this was the practice of selling Indulgences. It was based off of the theory that "the merits" of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the saints were stored up and that the papacy had the authority to distribute them. For a generous donation, that is. One German monk, of the Augustinian order, took issue with this unfounded practice. He wrote on it and ended up changing the world. Forever. He challenged the pope, asking, if this unfounded teaching is true, why are the "merits" not given freely to all? His name was Martin Luther, and if you want to more, I would encourage you to watch the movie Luther. It's not the most accurate depiction in the world, but it does a great job of discussing the issue of indulgences.
But don't take my word for it...
Ok. Moving on after a delightful little flashback.
Another prime example comes from the Christ, and you probably already know where I'm going with this. In one of the stories mentioned in all four Gospels, Jesus goes into the Temple and drives out the money changers and those selling animals to be sacrificed - in other words, those trying to make money off of God. And it's not like when he drove out demons, where Christ simply commanded it and it happened. No, it's significantly more dramatic than that. Making a whip out of reeds and turning over tables - this is the stuff Indiana Jones was made for. As Jesus said, the Temple had been made "a den of thieves".
And today we have much the same thing going on. First and foremost, I think of the massive market of Christian books. And here I must be careful, because there are a lot of authors that I respect and admire. But at the same time, there are people selling "special editions" of books and Bibles, trying to come up with any reason for a new volume. The Five Languages of Love...for Young Men Between the Ages of 20 and 30 Who Enjoy Watching Men's Double Tennis During the British Open. Today's New International Version for Housewives Who Just Sent Their Fourth Child to Kindergarten for the First Day - Study Edition. Don't get me wrong. I understand books aimed at special audiences. But when you get tot he point of having five or more editions of the same book, something's gone horribly awry. CS Lewis, arguably one of the best Christian authors of the twentieth century, did not have Mere Christianity - For Singles. And yet Lee Strobel feels that if he doesn't publish seperate copies of The Case for... series for both teens and kids - well, I don't really know what will happen. Will the kids not understand the deep thoughts of the teen version? Will the younger half of a generation not fully love God? Will they be converted to atheism before the age of thirteen, never to go to church again?
And then there are the bullet point books. Joel Osteen guarantees that if you read his book, he can give you seven principles to being blessed by God. I'll hold my criticism of prosperity preachers for another day and focus more on the flawed idea of preaching that bullet points can change your life. First, I'll let Donald Miller explain it. Second, I'll continue Luther's challenge. If the secret to living a better life is seven simple steps, why are these not given out freely? If everything can be reduced to a point-by-point list, why does it have to be bound and sold for $22 ($15 on Amazon)? Why not publish it on a website? Now, I know that this same argument applies to all books, and CDs, and movies, but how much more, then, does it apply to lists?
Yes, yes, I know it all comes down to money. I know that money drives people, even Christians.
But I also know one thing: God is not for sale.
We cannot sale religion. We cannot sale salvation. We cannot sale a better relationship with God.
And Christianity is not the only religion with this problem.
I'm currently in "Introduction to Religion in Native American Cultures". And the first thing we talked about in this class was the New Age attempt to mix Eastern and Native American religious traditions and sell them. Which is why you have wealthy fifty year old white men smoking "peace pipes" and going on "vision quests" and teaching that we are all one with Mother Earth and the Great Spirit*. This abduction of culture has driven some Native Americans to "declare war" on the perpetrators, boycotting bookstores and New Age shops.
Which makes me wonder.
If native people are offended by cultural/religious theft and are willing to protest the offenders, why are Christians so willing to let our faith be packaged and sold for twenty dollars per mountaintop experience? Why do we stand by as "Christian" toys (BibleMan would pwn Psalty in a cage match), "Christian" financial guides, and, among the more troubling, "Christian" patriotic clothing, continue to commercialize Christianity?
And even more important, once we've had enough, what do we do about it?
Rock on.
*The "peace pipe" comes from various traditions of the Sacred Pipe. Vision quests are not practiced by all cultures. Mother Earth is a Greek concept. And the Great Spirit is a translation of an Oglala Lakota (think Black Elk) belief used to make monotheistic Westerners more comfortable with polytheistic native beliefs.
Post Script: The title is Johann Tetzel's famous rhyme. Translated , it means "As soon as the gold in the pan rings, the soul in [to] Heaven jumps," or more commonly translated, "As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul to Heaven springs." Or, depending on the source, it could be "Die Seel aus dem Fegefeuer springt", which is, "the soul from Purgatory springs." There are a few other variations, but I won't go into them.
