Reflections of an ex-Christian at Easter

(Pic - "The Sermon on the Mount" from Ecce Homo. Elizabeth Ohlson Wallin, 1998, Photograph, 79" x 60")

My journey with Christianity has, it needs to be said, been a fairly robust one – on both sides, I suppose. I was born and raised in a fairly ordinary Christian home.  By this, I mean, that we went to a little parish Church within walking distance of our house.  We cooked a turkey at Christmas and had Christmas pudding aflame with brandy.  We had Easter Eggs at Easter and otherwise lived fairly ordinary, middle-of-the-road lives.  My parents were standard parents, with fairly standard ideas.  It was a happy home and the Church was a reasonable part of it.  We got baptised as infants and confirmed on reaching puberty.  If we got married, it was in the parish church. If you died, that is where you got buried from.  It was just the way you did things.

My siblings were much older than me and had gone their separate ways by the time my hormones started raging.  And when they did, they raged within the fairly safe confines of Church youth groups and choir practise – so generally, it was all relatively safe and sound.

I knew from an early age that I wanted to become a Priest.  I used to explain to my easily bewildered students, many years down the track, that it was primarily the gorgeous clothes the priest wore that had initially attracted me to the priesthood.  Of course, my motives all got dressed up in stuff the bishops wanted to hear, like calling and vocation and things like that – but actually, it was the glamour – the sheer outright drama of the thing, which did it.

I went to study theology at Rhodes University and Cambridge and Manchester.  I loved it all! I loved the academic rigour, the debate, the sheer, glorious liberation of being able to think things through and to discard the nonsense and hold on to what made rational sense.  I had some pretty amazing teachers – I think of the extraordinary Canon John Suggit.  I think of Bishop John Robinson, who was quite happy to throw the baby out with the bathwater and still was able to maintain some kind of link with both the religion and the institution of the Church (and more amazingly, was allowed to do so!)

I worked for a while as a priest in Lesotho.  In reality, it was a convenient cover for political activity.  But it was also character-moulding in all sorts of ways.  If I close my eyes, I can still remember the day I was made Deacon in the Cathedral of St Mary and St James, Maseru.  There is a point in the service, where the Deacon is required to prostrate himself before the altar.  I remember the freezing cold of the stone floor, the smell of the incense mixed with wood smoke.  I remember the overwhelming drama of the thing and the sense of dignity and communion as the massive congregation welcomed me.

I was ordained Priest in Manchester Cathedral, after long negotiations with the ecclesiastical authorities, because of my refusal to swear any oath of allegiance to the Queen.  I remember the growl of the organ and the triumphant procession.  I remember the taste of the wine at the first Mass where I was the celebrant.

So when I call myself an ex-Christian, it is not an easy thing.  I have so much of the religion etched in my brain, in my consciousness and my unconsciousness.  The images, the sights the sounds, the smells – these are a significant part of me. And I entered into it, for a massive chunk of my life, fully and passionately.  Doubtless, I would still be there, if it were in any way possible.

When a new Archbishop of Canterbury is enthroned – something happens inside me.  It is difficult to explain – but I am still connected to it long enough to remember that I have since rejected it all.  When a Pope resigns and a new one is chosen, something in my inner being awakens and reacts.  When we approach Eastertide and my child asks me about the plagues in Egypt, I react with something much more than passing interest.

And it is not that I believe in any kind of objective God, really, it is not.  And it is not that I regret not believing in God.  It is something quite aside from that.  It is a strange and eerie connection with the rich past which has made me who I am.  It is impossible to pretend that it means nothing, or that it achieved nothing or that it is worth nothing.  And I would not want to do that.

In the end, we, as a same-sex family with two adopted children, decided to cut ties with the Church once and for all, for reasons which have nothing to do with belief.  It was simply impossible to continue in it as second-class citizens and for our children to be brought up in an environment where we were not fully and completely accepted. It became abundantly clear that it would be asking too much of an institution, riven with its own lies and contradictions, on the question of sexuality – (let alone theology!).

And so, I live my life without the Church any more.  There are some things I miss intensely and many more things I don’t.  I miss the drama and the ritual and the rumble of the organ.  I miss the hieratic language and the powerful, living poetry which accompanies it.  I don’t miss the bigotry and the anti-intellectual conservatism and the lies and the all-pervading, inescapable hypocrisy, which is allowed to grow and flourish and flower and seed, without any hinder or check.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that for all of it, my children – in their particular circumstance are better - much better - without it.  I am not sure I will be able to protect them from its worst excesses forever, but I am going to do my best to shield them, for as long as possible.  So they will have to be content with Easter eggs rather than the extraordinary story of hope rising from the darkness of the tomb.

Jesus had AIDS

As something of an illustration of how simplistic and how literal the general level of theological understanding is, amongst people in the parishes, an article appeared in this week’s Mail and Guardian entitled: “Pastor crucified for saying Jesus had Aids” (p.16).

There is a picture of a forlorn looking pastor, the Reverend Xola Skosana of Khayelitsha, Cape Town, who is baffled by the fact that his congregants took offense when he preached a sermon suggesting that Jesus had Aids.

“When we attend to those who are sick, we are attending to him. When we ignore people who are sick, we are ignoring him”, the pastor is quoted as saying.

He went on to quote from the Bible, where Jesus says “I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me”. However, he explained, there had been extremely hostile reaction to his sermon and to he and some members of his congregation publicly taking an HIV test.

“The scathing attacks I have received from Christians are unbelievable. They are saying you can’t reconcile Jesus and Aids. They assume it means Jesus was promiscuous and had many sexual partners.”

That analysis may be true. In part, I am sure it is true. However, I think there is something else which lies in the depths of this response and it is this. It is the complete inability of the majority of Christians to consider anything in the Bible as anything other than literal. So, you have a literal figure in the Old Testament being swallowed by a big fish. He literally lives inside the creature and he is literally vomited up on a shore somewhere. While he was inside the creature, he managed to compose one or two poems.

You literally have a person walking on water, and you literally have him flying into the sky and zooming off to heaven like a rocket. The disciples literally do not recognise Jesus on the Road to Emmaus (What is wrong with them? Did they suddenly turn into complete idiots?). And all of this is not helped when it is clouded in holy and religious language. Faith starts to mean believing what you know to be untrue.

Now the fact is, if this is the case, it is because of a complete failure on the part of the church itself and institutions of higher learning to teach people about meaning and symbol, about poetry, about different kinds of literature and the way in which they function. Consequently, the bible is read in much the same way as is the newspaper and then – surprise surprise! Someone comes along and says “Hang on! That is a load of hogwash!”

On Facebook the other day, there was an article relating to Stephen Hawking’s latest book, which states, triumphantly, that God isn’t a necessary part in the scientific explanation of the origin of the universe. Now, honestly and truly, is this news? Is this a shock? Does this in any way alter the way we think about anything at all? Did I wake up this morning depressed to discover the possibility that God did not create the universe?

I did so, only if I need literal truth and only literal truth. Only if my world is so small, and so confined to one kind of reality, that it will not even venture into the realm of dream, of fantasy, of story and myth. It is a world in which I will dismiss “Alice in Wonderland” as untrue, because it is not literally true. That is the world in which some scientists and many Christians and other religious people dwell – and I pity them. Because it is a world where there is only one note, sounding over and over and over again. It is a good note. It is a true note. But it is a singular note.

Jesus in tap shoes

“Infecting the City” is a novel programme of public Art, which Spier funds on a yearly basis for Cape Town. One of the items interested me especially, and luckily was outside the Michaelis Art Gallery on Greenmarket Square, which is about 10 steps away from where I work.

So, I stood in the sun, with a small crowd of mostly young, “alternative” sorts of people. We were looking at the entrance of the Gallery, which has some nice steps, a covered area and columns on either site. Between the columns had been mounted Beezy Bailey’s two life sized bronze pieces which are part of the performance. Like most of his work, they are quirky and strange. A man with long hair and a beard, in a loincloth, with stick-thin legs, arms outstretched, in high heels, and obviously doing some kind of dance.

The performance started, and out of the double doors of the gallery appeared a man with false beard, long hair and wearing a loincloth and in tap shoes. It was unmistakeably meant to be Jesus. Whereas the bronzes were white, this Jesus was black, young, slightly rounded of figure and camp as a row of pink tents.

He danced to a suped-up version (sometimes breaking into rap!) of “Lord of the Dance”, with words written by Sydney Carter. It was a short piece, lasting no more than 5 minutes. I was extremely interested to watch the crowd. They clapped enthusiastically at the end and some of them jigged along with the beat in a supportive, sort of approving way, during the performance.

Before the performance, I had asked one of the organisers where “Infecting the City” got their funding from. “Spier, and only Spier”, was his response. I asked him what the reaction to the piece had been. He said that they had received a whole lot of hate mail from “Christians”.

Of course it was predictable that they should get hate mail from “Christians”, but it got me thinking about a whole lot of things. When Sydney Carter wrote “Lord of the Dance” in 1963, it was partly inspired by Jesus and partly by a statue of Shiva as Nataraja . It was an adaptation of Joseph Brackett's "Simple Gifts", and he intended it as a tribute to Shaker music.

"I did not think the churches would like it at all”, he said later. “I thought many people would find it pretty far flown, probably heretical and anyway dubiously Christian. But in fact people did sing it and, unknown to me, it touched a chord ... Anyway, it's the sort of Christianity I believe in."

"I see Christ as the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. By Christ I mean not only Jesus; in other times and places, other planets, there may be other Lords of the Dance. But Jesus is the one I know of first and best. I sing of the dancing pattern in the life and words of Jesus. Whether Jesus ever leaped in Galilee to the rhythm of a pipe or drum I do not know. We are told that David danced (and as an act of worship too), so it is not impossible.”

Now, I know that “Lord of the Dance" is an extremely popular song in both the mainstream churches and in the Evangelical tradition. I can only imagine that some of the hate-mail which the organisers of the Exhibition received, was from people who themselves, at some point of their lives have sung “Lord of the Dance”. I can only wonder at what they were thinking when they were singing the song!

I can remember very clearly, when I was growing up in a tending-towards-Evangelical Anglican Church in Johannesburg, singing another of Sydney Carter’s hymns “Standing in the rain” (1965). It had a very catchy tune and we used to sing it often. However, verse 4 read as follows:

Christ the Lord has gone to heaven
One day he'll be coming back, sir
In this house he will be welcome
But we hope he won't be black, sir.

This verse was routinely omitted in my church. Because many of the congregation indeed fervently hoped he wouldn’t be black. Indeed, the mere possibility of him being black was deemed offensive in the extreme!

Recently I found some amazing pictures on a blog I follow called – Jesus in love blog. Both pictures are by photographer Bill Burch. The one is Transvestite Jesus. The other is even more strange, I think, which, if I understand it correctly, is cocking a snoot in the direction of some feminists, as well as the more general swathe of patriarchists. It is called Fur Coat Jesus. And there is Jesus, as a woman, standing in a fur coat on the cross.

One of the readers of the blog describes them as “disturbing”. I suppose many, if not most religious people would find them “disturbing”. They are certainly not the norm!

But the point all of them are making, this and the Beezy Bailey exhibition – one amongst many points - is a relatively simple one. Any and all pictures of Jesus are necessarily interpretive. What mainstream “orthodox”, or even so-called “Bible believing” Christians may see as the “right” kind of picture of Jesus, others could find offensive, disturbing, or blasphemous. Either that or is Jesus so fully and so comprehensively defined in patriarchal, hetero-normative terms, that nothing else is even remotely or conceptually (or even artistically) possible? I fear that might be nearer the
real truth.

Tranny Jesus and Fur Coat Jesus

TOP: Bill Burch - Fur Coat Jesus - 2009

BOTTOM: Bill Burch - Transvestite Jesus, 2009

I have just found these amazing pix on a blog I follow – JesusInLove. The one is of a transvestite Jesus, while the other is a rather strange one, I think, if I understand it correctly, cocking a snoot in the direction of some feminists, as well as the more general swathe of patriarchists .

One of the readers of the blog describes them as “disturbing”. Personally, I am way past being disturbed by this kind of imagery – but I suppose I am probably fairly far out on a limb in this regard anyway. I suppose many, if not most religious people would find them “disturbing”, because they are certainly not the norm!

But the point is a relatively simple one – any and all pictures of Jesus are necessarily interpretive. What mainstream orthodox, so-called “Bible believing” Christians may see as the “right” kind of picture of Jesus, others will find offensive.

The really interesting point, though, is this: would a transvestite see this picture as appropriate. Is it remotely possible that he (in this instance) would have such a good and such a positive self-image, that Jesus himself could be represented in this way?

Similarly, would a feminist who resists and resents everything that high heels and fur coats represents, be able to see the trauma of being woman in this representation? Would the kind of woman who wears furs and high heels, but still considers herself to be a feminist be able to discern herself in this picture? Would a woman who is neither feminist, nor dressed in this way see herself there?

Or, is Jesus so fully and so comprehensively defined in patriarchal, hetero-normative terms, that nothing else is even remotely or conceptually (or even artistically possible? I fear that might be the truth.

Homo-erotic images of Jesus - The Judas Kiss

Top: Elizabeth Ohlson-Wallin - "Kiss of Judas". Middle: Giotto: "Kiss of Judas"; Bottom: Becki Jayne Harrelson: "Judas Kiss"

Three artists dealing with the same dramatic moment – the betrayal of Jesus by Judas, with a kiss. From the perspective of orthodox Christianity, this is a pivotal moment. It is grand operatic in its proportions. Here, one of Jesus closest followers, who broke bread and who shared wine with him, betrays him and this betrayal leads Jesus to his death.

Some commentators see the intention of Judas as being honourable. He had grown tired of Jesus’ apparent dithering about and wanted to force his hand. Jesus was, after all the Messiah. The role of the Messiah was to deliver the people of Israel. The Messiah had, at his command, legions of angels, the heavenly Host along with all the weaponry and power of the Almighty. The problem was that Jesus seemed to show an annoying reluctance to use these powers. Judas believed he could precipitate matters, by betraying Jesus into the hand of his enemies – thereby forcing him to act. Of course, he could just have been greedy, but the other is a real interpretation of his motivations.

Whatever it is, and whatever the motivation, it allows the homosexual community to take the image and foreground the homoerotic element in the moment. Here is Jesus - God made human - being kissed by another man. In the Gospel account, he does not reject the kiss. There is no record of him being revolted by it. Indeed, it would appear that the practise is commonplace – how else would it have the signal significance it is intended to have? Judas tells those who he is working with, “The one that I kiss is your man”.

Now, this kiss resonates powerfully throughout the history of the Church. It is the liturgical Filema – the Kiss of Peace, which is practised in the Eucharist as a symbol of the unity of Christians. That is the resonance it is supposed to have. And the fact that this sacred symbol of unity and togetherness can become the moment of the greatest betrayal, is precisely the point which is being made.

And that is why it is such a powerful symbol for use by LGBT Christians. Because at the point at which there is supposed to be the most obvious evidence of unity, of love, of peace – that is the place where LGBT Christians experience the most brutal pain and anguish of betrayal. It is at that point. Exactly at that point – the Eucharistic kiss. And the act of betrayal is experienced in the opposite direction, this time.

Gay images of Jesus

I love these three images, two of which are based on the famous "Consolator" of Carl Bloch (centre). I don't know where the Marilyn Monroe piece comes from, but the gay iconic spoof is from Elizabeth Ohlson-Wallin's "Ecce Homo" series.

The thing about the two alternative takes on the "Consolator", is that they both make exactly the same point. They foreground, and explicitly sexualise the adoration aspect of the painting. I suppose, in the heterosexual version, one may want to update the sexual iconography a bit, by substituting the head and body of Megan Fox, for instance. The gay one speaks a particular iconographic language of a particular, but very recognisable sub-culture.

Now, how come only certain options are available? How come the vocabulary and grammar of religious iconography has been so completely hi-jacked and owned by heterosexual imagists? Naturally, it has to do with the power of the majority. But how come, when the church talks of "listening" to gay people and "dialogue" with us, that our language, our grammar, our vocabulary is not up for discussion?