Micah Tillman

Yesterday was both Mothers’ Day and Pentecost. It was a strange combination; but The Wife informs me that “Spirit” in both Hebrew and Greek is a female noun. So there was some connection, I suppose.

Our associate pastor, Adam, gave the sermon. Though inspired by Pentecost, it wasn’t a “usual” Pentecost-type sermon. It had to do both with “tongues” and group-inclusion. Specifically it had to do with Mennonite singing.

_____________________

Mennonites, in general, like to sing four-part harmony. Often a cappella. Adam pointed out that, among other traditional Mennonite practices, this style of singing can not only be an expression of unity in the Body of Christ (it takes at least four people to sing one song!) but can create an insider-outsider feeling. After all, not everybody knows how to sight-read and sing in parts.

Fortunately for me, spending at least part of my first 18 years in a traditional Baptist church (where you’re provided with hymnals [which include the music, and therefore the four parts for each hymn] rather than simply given the words), and playing in a concert band, I had learned to read music and could sing the bass or tenor parts decently.

At college, being a music minor — where you’re required to take music theory and “sight-singing and ear training” — helped even more. I’m still not nearly perfect, and prefer to sing bass both because of my vocal range and because the bass part tends to be relatively simple.

But knowing all the years of singing and training that went into even my basic ability to sing parts allowed me to resonate with Adam’s argument that certain traditions can function both inclusively and exclusively (is that proper grammar?).

_____________________

And at this point, most people (at least in Liberal Christianity, of which our church is one small part) would have gone off into some tirade against tradition because of the divisions it produces.

There would have been long strings of postmodern terms like “marginalization,” “at the margins,” “deconstruction,” “transgressing boundaries so as to open the Same to the in-vention (in coming) of the Other.”

A wail of guilt and anger would have gone up over Mennonite (specifically) and Christian (generally) participation in cultural hegemony. WEeds would have been tossed in the air, as the speaker rent his garments in twain over the mighty injustice of failing to live as “the Gospel Writers” tell us Jesus lived.

(Jesus was a postmodernist, you see. A revolutionary who lived “at the margins,” whose ministry was to “the marginalized,” and who “deconstructed” the power structures of close-minded, unilateral imperialism.)

_____________________

On the other hand, in a church from Conservative Christianity, the sermon may have been just the opposite. It may have been an unreflective glorification of tradition, of what is ours, and a condemnation of Catholics and Charismatics for doing things differently.

But Adam’s sermon was a beautiful balance of both honesty about the problems which occur, and honesty about the goodness which occurs. It was a call to celebrate the traditions because they were life-giving, not simply because they were traditions.

And it was a call to be aware of the need to make others feel included — which can mean, in addition to ending unhealthy traditions, helping “outsiders” to enter the tradition (shock of all shocks!).

I found it to be truly marvelous, especially because my students and I had just finished studying Nietzsche’s early philosophy of history. Nietzsche argues that there are three ways in which history can be used to serve life (roughly corresponding to the triad: creation, preservation, destruction).

_____________________

The first kind of history he calls “monumental,” and is used by those who need inspiration to do great things. It looks back to the greats (and great deeds) of the past. It incites creativity.

The second kind he calls “antiquarian.” It is used by those who need to preserve their culture, home, or traditions because of their admiration for how those things enrich and support life.

The third kind Nietzsche calls “critical.” It is used by those who suffer, and need to cast off what oppresses them. Through it a person exposes the injustices which led to the current situation, and therefore destroys the apparent legitimacy of the situation.

_____________________

Most academic and politically/religiously-liberal history these days is of the “critical” variety. Most politically/religiously-conservative history these days is of the “antiquarian” variety. (See my articles on patriotism here and here.)

Nietzsche says you need all three, at different points, so that you can not only learn to create what is new and necessary for life, but learn to preserve what already supports life, and learn to rid yourself of that which oppresses life.

But most people cannot do this. Most people get stuck in one of the three modes.

Adam’s sermon, however, was a wonderful example of how both antiquarian and critical history can work together to produce not only celebration, but space for further improvement.

I haven’t seen anyone achieve that kind of harmony between two of the approaches in I don’t know how long.

Tags: Friedrich Nietzsche, history, Mennonites, Mothers' Day, Pentecost