On Christology IV: “What is that, velvet?”

I grew up in a family business that just so happened to be a movie theater. I remember when Coming to America came to the Little Art, I saw it at least five times. Like millions around the world, the characters with their attenuating voices became a staple of verbal repartee within my friend groups. In our late teens, when drug exploration was a nearly daily activity, about a dozen of us became obsessed with Eddie Murphy Delirious.  "Dammit, Guff!" was a regular exclamation. "A-goony-goo-goo," "She wasn't no Puerto Rican!" and "Oh! My shoe!!" were choked out amidst wails of laughter for an entire summer, and over two decades later, the lines bring a quick smile, like a time machine built of shorthand.

My personal favorite line, without exception, from any Eddie Murphy film (of which there are so, so many classics) is, "What is that, velvet?!" And, God help us, it is this scene I am going to use to address our next pressing questions: How does Jesus Christ relate to human salvation and the end times?       

Saul, the aptly-named elderly Jewish man and one of the many characters portrayed by Eddie, is using his own frame of reference to determine what King Joffrey's wrap is made of; yes, the ultimate goal is a laugh, and the line delivers on that, but let us set that aside and go deeper. We imagine that Saul might have gone through the Shoah; most certainly members of his family did, but let us flirt with the idea that he is a survivor. We could imagine that within the depths of the death camp experience, one fantasizes about what one would eat or drink, about the bathtub in which one would bathe, or the most luxuriant fabric into which one would ensconce themselves, given their druthers. Here, in this scene, Saul touches something so beautiful, he guesses what in his mind is the ultimate: Velvet.

Often Christology can be like touching lion hide and calling it velvet. We imagine the ultimate in terms of human salvation, and we declare it beautiful. How might Saul of the camps have reacted if someone told him that he'd think lion's hide was more luxurious were he to touch and see it? Would he have taken their word, or would he have held onto his own convictions, based on his knowledge and needs at the moment?  I imagine the latter. For Paul and the author(s) of the Gospel of Mark, the best they could fathom was salvation through faith, with Christ returning within a generation.

Here's the rub, though.* Jesus did not come back within a generation. And every other like claim has been proved wrong with the simple rotation of the earth on its axis. This obsessing with Jesus returning sadly goes hand-in-hand with charlatanism and lazy bigotry. The former for obvious reasons, the latter for ones less so. I have noticed that the people who often want Jesus to come back, like "Pastor" Becky in Jesus Camp, feel so disgusted by those whom they cannot terrorize into conversion that they call upon God to end creation, rather than shutting up for five minutes and hearing another perspective without immediately rejecting it because Jee-bus. This Jesus is cool with people being a jerk, something to which I take great umbrage.

I don't want these Christology entries to turn into bashing sessions (not to be confused with bashing Session, which Herr Drumpf seems to be taking care of) quite nicely; that is part of what has people running away from the Church. But in my fifteen years of studying, teaching, and more recently pastoring, I've found that hearing someone "in authority" (and as an ordained member of clergy I am that, whether I want it or not) talk honestly about the ways in which theology and religion have done harm allows them to take risks. Encouraging them to reject the abuse of others can help them to throw out manky bath water of religion while keeping the God-baby in their arms.


I think our having an understanding of Jesus that privileges the idea that God is soon going to swoop in and destroy all those whom the "Church" deems sinful is deeply problematic. I understand that there are lots of texts on this subject, but why do we somehow have to pretend that they aren't wrong, or at the very least can we admit that regarding the specific phrase "within a generation" as metaphorical, but demanding that everything vague that surrounds it is literal, is just fucking stupid? Can we please stop saying that for God, "one generation could be 10,000 years," or other such claptrap, in regards to this passages? Paul was wrong. Mark was wrong, and seeing that Matthew and Luke used Mark as a source, this specious assertion of imminent Parousia has been pummeled by the passing of time. Why are we so eager to set up ourselves in the next world by being insufferable dicks in this one?

With all that said, when I took vows of ordination, I made faith confessions upholding the first seven ecumenical Councils, which includes acceding to the Nicene Creed. How can I do that, given what I just wrote? Because I believe that following Jesus results in a resurrection of consciousness; it has in my case. Following Jesus means that I stop mistaking lion's hide for velvet. Yes, the assurance of everlasting salvation is appealing. And I do not reject that this is a potent part of Christian confession. Yet, I am not done with this life. In following Christ, I am able to mindfully deconstruct the ego. I am able to die more completely to the temporary allures of life, and through service to others and love for all touch the center of what it means to be human. Of what it means to exist as one both human and divine. To get in on that wavelength that is the shared consciousness of all things.

I abused drugs. I drank my way through no fewer than one marriage and one engagement. I was reckless, hiding in plain sight, and in pain. Once I got serious about following Jesus, making decisions based upon the demands of the gospel, I was able to stop drinking. My heart, which has always been tender, has grown strong in love. I look at people differently, as walking specks of God whom I want to know and love. I'm imperfect. I'm literally crazy, but I deal with it. I'm filled with joy even as I am sliding into a depression that, if tradition holds, will have me catatonic in a day or so. Maybe not. I'm developing new coping mechanisms that, no surprise, relate directly to following Christ.

It is important to think about what believe regarding Jesus and soteriological eschatology, a fancy way of saying ideas about Jesus, human salvation, and the end times. I am outside the orthodox views, to be sure, but not outside of the tradition. Views such as the ones espoused here can be found in the Sayings Gospel of Thomas. I don't wish to argue doctrine, though. From my praxis-based approached to following Jesus, I offer the witness that there are many types of death and resurrection, and I'm more interested in those I can experience here and now than I am fretting over those that will come. As Caesar says in the eponymous play, "Of all the wonders I yet have heard, it seems to me the most strange that men should fear seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

Stay tuned for our next installment, which will concern Jesus' relationship to the sacraments and how it pertains to human salvation.

*See what I did there?

On Christology, Part III: Hector quae prominebat and human isness

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The Abrahamic faiths begin with a sense that things are amiss. Death, suffering, toilings: they all boil down to there being a schism between the Source of Creation and creation itself. The covenant with Abraham entails two foundational promises: a bloodline and land. The requirements to benefit from these offerings differ amongst Abraham’s children. Textual Judaism established regulations on living, offerings within the Temple, strict observance on matters of ritual cleanness (understood literally and symbolically), and proscribed fundamental responsibilities for the treatment of those both within and without the covenant community. This manner of living, in broad and inexact terms, was believed to afford one the best path toward restoration to the life God intends us to live within Beloved Community.

This is replicated in Islam; the Qur’an incorporates much of the Tanakh and the Christian Scriptures.* Mohammad provides teachings for Arabs (originally) who wished to follow the Abrahamic God, much like Jesus and the early disciples/apostles provided a pathway for Gentiles. Spiritually, I do not know how to follow Jesus without understanding the ways in which our God has communicated to the Chosen People and the heirs of Ishmael.
Central to Christian theology, largely owed to Paul, is that Jesus fundamentally alters human anthropology. Another oft-used term is ontology, which is a big word for even bigger questions: What is the essence of the human person, in contrast to the Greek concept of accidents? What is intrinsic to us, what is a priori; what is the substance–in Greek, what is the ousia–the “isness” of the human person?  Pauline theology argues that in Adam (embodied sin) all persons die, in Christ (embodied redemption), all people live. The way to access this redemption is through faith. Without question, though, Paul did not advocate a lazy, meaningless faith of the lips unsupported by a faith of the heart. Implicit in the mandate of faith is a radical entry into relationships, with priority given to those who are in need and who are within the community.

For Paul, there was a foundational shift in human ousia as a result of Jesus’ resurrection. God broke through all the boundaries and offered reconciliation to all persons who had faith. I like this on its face, but not in practice. As discussed in a previous entry, Christian history is filled with violent, horrible examples that have nothing to do with a free coming to authentic faith, but rather required confession of belief at the tip of a sword or the end of a gun. This is what turns canon into cannons.

Christian doctrine rests upon a belief in original sin, which is really not a biblical principle. It’s an Augustinian hermeneutic; a belief expressed in the writings of St. Augustine of Hippo. I took an online course in seminary that only had four students; not that many people want to study Augustine in-depth. I did because I wanted to be sure why I object to him so ardently. Augustine is responsible for the idea that human sin passes down through the sex act; Augustine had a longtime mistress, a son whose death Augustine interpreted as God’s judgment on his sexual life, and a complicated relationship with his mother. In Latin, we’d call him Hector quae prominebat, or Hector Projector.  His term concupiscence begins the streak of sexual repression and shame that has come to define much of Western guilt about our own sexuality and obsession with that of others.

For Augustine, using a Pauline framework, original sin is wiped away by Jesus on the cross. I give more treatment of that in another series I am writing, but suffice it to say that the blood atonement theology that emerges with St. Anselm does not present a vision of God or Jesus that resonates with my experience of them both. Stripped of the loaded and problematic language, the theory does have a profound kernel: the God described in the Tanakh offers a salvific avenue to those outside the bloodline and land, one that begins and ends with spiritual faith.

Christianity has been sin-obsessed for too long. In no way am I denying the reality of sin, nor am I saying that we should simply ignore it. Not at all. But we really don’t need to make it the alpha and omega enemy of faith. In fact, I see the idea of Jesus’ incarnation as a step away from sin obsession. We are brought into right relationship with God, so we need not fear that sin is the final word; instead, we should focus on living lives that are imitatio Christi, imitations of Christ.

For me, following Jesus has affected a shift in consciousness and spiritual awareness, away from fear into one of love. I do not believe that something magical happened when Jesus came to earth, and our fundamental isness changed. I do believe, though, that in committing myself to Christ I have been able to move stridently toward a more authentic expression of what it means to live honestly and holistically.

Stay tuned for the next installment, which will focus on Jesus’ relationship to salvation and the end times. Please share with friends!

*I rarely use the term “Old Testament,” as it seems an insult to those who regard the Tanakh (Ta=Torah, the first five books; Na=Nevi’im, the Prophets; Kh=Ketuvim, the Writings) as living and ever-relevant. Similarly, I am loath to use the term “New Testament,” but do so regularly when speaking because it is just easier. I prefer “Christian Scriptures” or “Christian Testament,” terms that also allow for non-canonical texts that, despite the rulings of Councils, I believe are wells of wisdom.

On Christology, Part II: “But what is Truth?”

As I’ve written about beforeJesus Christ Superstar has been formative to my faith journey. My earliest memory is connected to Pilate counting the lashes and asking my sister, “Are they nailing him to the cross?” Portraying Pilate planted the seed of needing to know who Jesus is, a seed that germinated in my becoming a religion major in college. But what is Truth, is truth unchanging law? We both have truths, are mine the same as yours? 

My Christology is somewhere between “Personal Jesus” and “Losing My Religion.” A Jesus who guarantees us personal salvation but allows us to spend most of our times telling people what they cannot do or be is odious; a Christianity that permits us to do whatever we want, to engage in pleasure while simultaneously causing and contributing to suffering is equally problematic. One detail that is non-negotiable to me is that Jesus pulls us into community. I simply cannot understand how one can follow Jesus outside of being a servant of God for others. This does not have to be a church. I love the church, but I came to faith as an adult and have been lucky enough to find communities in which an others-based, radical love approach to Christianity is practiced. Many others have not been so lucky, so they have formed their own communities. That’s our hope with the Beloved Community Project. But I reject out of hand the idea that confessing faith in Christ is the alpha and omega of salvation.

As I wrote yesterday, my aim here is to set forth a working Christology. There are two goals: the first is presenting a cohesive vision of Jesus, the second is that in so doing I will create a starting point for conversations with others that are not initiated by me. Over the next several years, I will write an entire systematic theology but I gots to get that doctorate first. So, if I am working with someone else and they want to know what I think of Jesus, we can start with this and then talk in person. Enough qualifications, let’s get into it.

“Be you angels? Nay, we are but men.” –Tenacious D

One of the biggest intellectual stumbling blocks I’ve had even post-conversion is the divinity of Christ. The doctrine of “fully human, fully divine” took several centuries to develop, and a not insignificant number of lives were cut short for daring to hold contrary views. And while I have always been fascinated with theology and the study of religion, I grew up outside the Church. I was not indoctrinated, I was not abused. So while I have been and continue to be disgusted with how supposed followers of Christ have used God to justify horrendous things, I believe in a Jesus who has helped me battle demons while growing in love. Still, one cannot claim to know Jesus and not have a biblically-based understanding of the man from Nazareth.

I am not intending to inundate the reader with lots of biblical references and theological jargon. I have other writings for that if people are interested. When I do use specialist language, I will define it but this obviously is not meant to be the Christology section of an ordination paper. This is honest reflections on a vastly complicated subject.

The first thing to establish is Jesus’ relationship to God. There are myriad texts that present him as a preacher, a teacher, a miracle worker, a revolutionary, as one predicted by the prophets, a Son of God, and even as God himself. I have found that those who take Scripture literally rarely emphasize the various aspects equally. To be fair, that is true for me as well. The difference is that I emphasize the things that will help me be a servant to others while far too much of Christian history has been filled with and those by who emphasize the things that make others afraid. Vulnerable. Subject to persecution. A person who is willing to wield violence unto death in order to extract a confession that Jesus is fully divine does not seem like the sort of person who really knows Jesus Christ. But what do I mean by that?

For most of human history, people lived in a comfortable gray area as it concerns human-divine hybridity. Across cultures and time, it has been reported that heavenly beings came to earth, often using rape as a tactic, to impregnate. An early documented accounting of Haley’s comet postulated that the streaking across the sky was the soul of Julius Caesar becoming fully divine. Comic books are filled with modern examples of ancient cosmogony. Full humanity and full divinity became a modern sticky wicket, though, especially for monotheism. How can corporeal flesh, with all its attenuating limitations and imperfections, contain the fullness of the divine, which is the ur-perfection of all things? This rabbit hole is interesting, but it is filled with sub chambers that burrow to the center of the earth. We’re aiming with a bird’s eye view.

My Christology began in and with Buddhism. Siddhartha taught that we are the cause of our own suffering, which we perpetuate as a result of constructing and defending ego. I read widely and deeply on the Four Noble Truths, particularly the Eightfold Path. I examined myself regularly to untangle the web of ego within myself, an ongoing process. I began to understand that this is what Paul writes about in Romans 6-8. When I am feeling anger or I’m engaged in envy, I remind myself that such feelings more often than not are rooted in egotism. Dying to that self and being clothed in Christ, to me, means that love, compassion, mercy, and grace are always abundant, but only if I commit to seeing them. If I am not able to love even as the temporary situation elicits other emotions, I have some dying to do. This does not mean allowing oneself to be trod upon as if a doormat; rather, it means that in this walk of life, one steps mindfully and aware of how the footfall impacts others. Jesus has helped me understand that sometimes we need to love people from a distance, as their toxicity cannot be addressed by anyone but themselves.

Buddhism also helped me to wrestle with the human-divine conundrum. From the beginning, Christianity has been home to metaphorical and allegorical hermeneutics. In other words, interpretations of Jesus Christ have always included symbolism. Jesus used parables to teach; does it change the truth of the stories if factually there was no prodigal son? Of course not, so how does it follow that the evangelists wrote only what is literally true? Jesus used stories, so did the evangelists, and so do we as followers of Christ. There’s a Buddhist teaching that I have consulted much over the past 15 years. The unenlightened person is like one who will ask the master about the location of the moon, only to stare at the pointing finger rather than the object in the sky.

I began with understanding Jesus as the master pointing to the sky, showing the way to the moon (God), but not as the moon itself. This is not unique or original to me, and in fact, stretches back to primitive Christianity.

This intellectual conception of God allowed me to engage more confidently in following Christ and working for Christ within both Christian and non-Christian circles. I came to God through Jesus, which satisfies a basic requirement for those who wish to seek ordination. But more importantly, it propelled me into relationships with others while focusing on service and genuine community. Jesus transgressed cultural and religious lines, proclaiming as the Beloved those especially who had been abused and shut out by prevailing powers. Following Jesus means loving your enemies, and not just saying that you do. It means not looking at others as inferior or less-than; again, this does not mean anything goes. It does not mean that people aren’t held responsible here and now for what they do. It means, though, that God doesn’t say, “take care of those who think like you, look like you, and only those whom you feel deserve it.” God says that we are our siblings’ keeper. And everyone is a child of God. Following Jesus means abhorring the argument that everyone who cannot meet all of their needs is lazy, asking for a handout, is holding others back, or is asking for special treatment. It means that you are more disgusted by a society that has failed to clothe, feed, affirm, and protect all people than you are by the needy people themselves.

Jesus being fully human means that we do not lack an example of how to live an authentic life. The fully human Jesus does not have anything extra or lack anything necessary; he is one of us.


The trite expression “What Would Jesus Do?” sadly was more marketing tool than ministry truth, but there is a kernel of usefulness present. Knowing what I know about Jesus, where would he see God in this situation and what would be his response as a servant of God to and for others?

Beginning with the fully human aspect of Jesus helped me explore the divine. I don’t say “fully divine” because I think the phrase is overused by those who don’t fully understand what it entails beyond being a litmus test for those who want to be card-carrying members of Team Jesus. Right now, I believe this: through his life, Jesus was filled with the Spirit of God. His manner of life led him to an execution at the hands of religious and civil authorities who saw his message as inherently dangerous. Jesus submitted himself to judgment because he knew no other way to live a genuine life, and if this world wouldn’t let him he would simply leave. He did all things in love. I remain agnostic as to whether Jesus is ontologically God–that is, eternally and absolutely divine–or if Jesus experienced an awakening that, like others across time and space, propelled him to perfect union with God. In other words, I can make arguments that Jesus’ identity was an evolutionary process, just as it is for all other humans. I’m a modified Gnostic (or perhaps a Gentile Hasidic) in that I believe there is a spark of divinity in all of us; the purpose of our lives is to identify the spark, and allow the Spirit to stoke it into an all-consuming flame.

Through following Jesus, submitting to the Gospel, orientating myself toward the priorities Jesus identified, I have grown closer and closer to God. I’ve done a shit-ton of drugs and drank oceans of booze, but the all-encompassing feeling of being connected to the source of Love is beyond the high produced by anything I ever put into my body. The more I live the Gospel, the more I am able to let go of the false self. I know that there are some things worth dying for, and while I do not wish to perish I know that the spiritual death of being a slave to capitalism and American nationalism will be far worse than even crucifixion. We turn to Rome to sentence Nazareth. 

Is Jesus God? In my mind, there is no separation between Jesus and God. I refuse, though, to participate in theological-purity witch hunts. A fully-human Jesus who reveals God, but whose resurrection is symbolic is still a very powerful cat. A Jesus who provides us the perfect paradigm for how to live an authentic life? Why would we want to shut that out? How does that understanding prevent someone from following the Gospel? I’ve Hindu and Buddhist acquaintances who see Jesus as an istadevata (a figure to whom one dedicates one’s religious life in exchange for divine benefits) or as a great teacher. The respect they accord to him and the ways in which they live their lives is far preferable to the hateful destruction I’ve seen from Christological purists.

For me, Jesus is the way, the truth, and the light. But I believe in a God much bigger than one interpretation or even one religion.

In the next installment, we will consider how Jesus does or does not alter human anthropology. Please share this with friends!

On Christology, Part I: Eyerollers Welcome


I love Jesus.

I also understand that the statement makes a good number of people cringe. This makes sense, given that it so often is followed by judgmental statements meant to describe the flaws of those on the receiving end of the invective. I don’t love that Jesus. I don’t even want to know him.

But if you want to understand me you’ll come to understand that I love Jesus. My well-known conversion story–schizophrenic brother committed suicide and I began my fifteen-year path to the pastorate–is part of it. I wrestled intellectually with the Jesus I believed in for years; my doctrine was sound, but my life was not. The process of submitting to God unfolded over the course of years and would be as tedious to read as it would be to write; suffice it to say, after I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder I was able to take the necessary steps to create a life that allows me to live with health issues: Therapy with an amazing doctor; a medication protocol that strikes a good balance between managing the most troublesome aspects of bipolar and not so heavily altering my mental state that I lose a sense of self; recognizing and actualizing the need to work exclusively in the village; communicating clearly (and apologizing when I don’t) my needs when bipolar is winning; and myriad other issues.

But the biggest change has been quitting drinking. I tried for years to quit. I would make promises to myself and others that I would break. I let my alcoholism impact all areas of life, dragging others into it as well. My first marriage ended for many reasons, but the biggest was I chose alcohol over everything else, even when I acted like that was not the case. I didn’t do it maliciously–few drunks do–but as soon as I was able to regulate the need to drink because of mental health issues, the final piece necessary to quit was in place.

I attribute all of that to Jesus.

Christology literally means “words about Christ.” In seminary, all students are required to take at least one course in systematic theology, which involves writing a synthesized explanation for the major questions that arise when talking about belief in the Christian God. It is impossible to write a cohesive systematic theology by compartmentalizing each aspect. What one believes about Jesus informs what one believes about the sacraments, the means of grace and salvation, theological anthropology, and the ends of existence. I had this sorted out intellectually, but four years ago I began to feel the need to no longer just preach and teach, but rather to live the principles embodied in and through Jesus Christ.

Regular readers of the blog or those who know me irl will know about the Beloved Community Project. I have thrown myself into the life of the village because I believe that God has provided me the milieu in which I can preach the gospel through the work I do, most often without even saying the name of Jesus. As we’ll talk about in this series, I believe the statement, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” But I do not believe that it indicates the exclusive passage a spiritual life. In following Jesus, I have discovered that the truth is almost always found by following love. I have discovered that a rich, meaningful life is, as Jesus says, understanding that “the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve.” I am a Son of Man, the male offspring of a male father–there are multiple ways in which the term is used in biblical documents; in the book of Ezekiel, we see the example I employ above–and by trying to serve various communities, I feel more alive than ever.

But I don’t think everyone will necessarily experience this, nor do I think that my approach is superior to others simply because I believe in Jee-suhs.

I have been a biblical scholar for most of my career; I wrestle with the Bible each and every week I am in the pulpit, which is most Sundays. I take the Bible seriously, but not so I can condemn others to hell while ignoring my own legion of sin. I read the Bible because it helps me in this deconstruction of a false self and the taking on of Christ, like a warm cloak over my cold flesh. I preach to share history, theory, words of comfort, and to issue loving commandments to take Christ into the community with us, ears opened and mouths shut. St. Francis is ever my pastor: Preach the gospel at all times, Aaron, and for God’s sake shut up unless words are absolutely necessary. 

This project will reflect the tangy mix that is Pastor Aaron (PA). I love theology and sharing ideas with people; I’m a pastoral theologian. I have little use for theology that does not help us live the gospel in our lives, as we are able and as we discern; the Jesus I know helps me to view situations with a long view toward love, he gives me a nudge when I’m acting selfishly or Iif  am benefitting from myriad privileges because it is just easier to remain quiet; and he, in ways I will explain, brings me the greatest and most overwhelming joy in life.

I know, I used to roll my eyes, too. And I totally understand if you just did. Christians and Christianity deserve the disdain and skepticisms many hold. I never run away from that here, which is easy because I do not have the “goal” of converting anyone. I plan to explicate my working Christology here, so when I go out into the world I can focus on being a servant in the ways that people need. I hope that you’ll come on the journey, and please feel free to share with anyone you think might be interested.