Christ Plays

The following is a correspondence with Eugene Peterson about his book Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology

August 11, 2009

Dear Dr. Peterson,

I wanted to thank you again for allowing me to enter into this conversation with you on spiritual theology, through your book, through this correspondence and through your partnership in this independent study.  Having read your book, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, I am now eager to discuss with you a number of ideas and reflections that your book prompts. 

Let me begin by saying that I greatly admire your identification of and commitment to conversation as a mode of teaching and writing. I resonate with your definition of conversation as “back-and-forthness, several voices engaged in considering, exploring, discussing, and enjoying not only the subject matter but also one another’s company” (4).  I do not think we should underestimate the power of conversation to form the hearts and imaginations of men and women.  I cannot help but recall that it was through conversation that Christ was formed in the life of C.S. Lewis, as he spoke long into the night with Tolkien and Dyson. 

As you probably know, Lewis would later reflect on the special place conversation had in his life, “My happiest hours are often spent with three or four old friends in old clothes tramping together and putting up in small pubs – or else sitting up til the small hours in someone’s college rooms, talking nonsense, poetry, theology, metaphysics over beer, tea, and pipes” (Jacobs xix).  I think these moments were among the happiest for Lewis not because of their pleasure or utility but because of their good.  Lewis loved these men and together they loved these topics and I believe that each conversation served to enrich, deepen and inform the good in him and in those with whom he shared in conversation. 

If I could go on with the Lewis thought just a bit further, a few years ago I had an experience with Lewis that helped to confirm the power of conversation.  With the exception of the Scriptures, I have been reading in C.S. Lewis longer than any other body of literature.  I first picked up The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when I was about ten; I am now thirty-three, so I’ve been reading Lewis for over twenty years.  About five years ago a friend of mine, who knew that I was a Lewis fan, bought for my birthday a re-release of the original BBC recordings of Lewis’ The Four Loves.  When I placed the CD into the CD player and hit play for the first time a strange thing occurred.  I had never heard C.S. Lewis’ recorded voice before, but when I heard that low, irreplicable Irish turned English voice I felt as though I was being reacquainted with a long lost relative.  I felt as though I had known this voice even though I had never heard it before; the voice was somehow familiar and I was actually moved to tears. 

I realize now that over those twenty years I had gone from reading Lewis to conversing with Lewis; at some point I began engaging with Lewis in considering, exploring, discussing, and enjoying not only the subject matter but also his company (mediated through his books, of course) so that when I first heard his voice something resonated deep within me.  The experience with the recording revealed to me just how much Lewis had permeated my life and just how powerfully formative conversation can be.  I had a similar experience when I read Alan Jacobs’ The Narnian.  As I read the book I didn’t feel as though Jacobs was writing on a subject or that I was reading up on a subject but that we were discussing a mutual friend. 

So it seems to me that you are right to employ conversation as the means by which to help integrate spiritual theology in the lives of your readers.  If spiritual theology is as you say (and I believe it is), “the attention we give to lived theology,” what better way to attend to living theology than simply loving God and conversing with Him and others who love Him; engaging in ongoing conversation with folks whereby God’s word becomes our words as they incarnate themselves within the community, finding residence deep within us and resonating deeply among us.  As I reflect on my own life, my own spiritual growth and Christian formation I can say quite easily that the most significant moments of learning, formation and growth were all done within the context of conversation with godly folks that I loved and I knew loved me.  I think you might agree Dr. Peterson that conversations themselves are a key location among the ten-thousand places where Christ seeks to play. 

Yet it troubles me Dr. Peterson that so many in our culture, Christians included, are reluctant to or perhaps even defy being taken up into a conversation; they defy being taken up into the story.  We are, as you say, quick to engage in polemics but slow to converse.  I know that from time to time I have been guilty of this.  I’m sad to report, but I’m sure this will come as no surprise to you, that I have spoken to folks who have taken offense to some things you have written.  One example comes from a woman in my congregation who actually is a fan of yours and has read many of your books but was offended by a comment you made about the spiritual disciplines in an interview for Image Magazine. She is finishing up an MAR at Trinity Seminary and she wrote a thesis on Lectio Divina in partial fulfillment of the degree.  She came out of a hurtful fundamentalist background but has found new life in the spiritual disciplines and some of the Catholic spiritual writers.  When she gave me a copy of the article she was quick to share with me her disapproval of your thoughts on the disciplines at the end of the article.  I could sense she was beginning a polemic.  I wanted to say to her, “You have left the conversation, you’re out on your own and you’re not listening, you’re speaking outside the conversation.”  Having read some of your books and articles, having listened to your interviews on Mars Hill Audio, having watched your interview online with Dean Nelson at the Writer’s Symposium at Point Loma Nazarene University, I feel as though I have begun to pick up the conversation; started to engage in considering, exploring, discussing, and enjoying spiritual theology in your company and so I said to her (and I hope I didn’t put words in your mouth) “I don’t think Peterson’s issue is with the disciplines per se but with the moralism that can degenerate out of the disciplines.”  I tried to encourage her to come back into the conversation. 

With someone like this it’s a little easier to bring them back into the conversation.  Despite her reactions, which are overreactions at times, she has a sensitivity to the way in which Christ plays in her life through creation, history and community.  Generally, however, it has become (and is becoming) more and more difficult to engage in conversation with folks.  In some ways I wonder if engaging in conversation has become too difficult for people since conversation done well requires something from us; sharing someone’s thoughts and ideas can be costly.  A good conversation requires sustained attention (concentrating on what people say) patience, (giving people the room to say what they are going to say), temperance (not immediately reacting to what someone says), understanding, (rightly interpreting what someone says) and wisdom (responding appropriately to what someone says).  The conversation becomes even more costly when you begin to discuss the claims that Christ makes on our limbs, eyes and faces or discuss how Christ really is Lord of creation, history and community; how Christ is Lord of our lives and over everything else.  Perhaps it’s simply easier and less costly to dive into polemics than to converse.

I also wonder if the impediment to conversation and spiritual growth is more pernicious than just costliness alone.  When reading your chapter on history, my imagination was captured by your description of the Exodus and how the plagues were a contest between Pharaoh and YHWH.  In fact, I purchased a copy of Donald Gowan’s Theology in Exodus to explore the idea further.  Even more captivating was your description of the plagues as a program of exorcism for the minds of the Israelites; how it was necessary for God to cleanse the minds of the Israelites who, through 400+ years of enslavement, had adopted a view of the world that was corrupt.  Their minds and spirits had succumbed to the rule of evil and needed excised; their minds needed cleansed. 

It seems to me that this type of corruption and demonic possession is becoming increasingly present in the lives of those in my congregation and within the culture at large.  From time to time at our weekly staff meetings we discuss some of the challenges facing the church and the church’s mission, both locally and within our culture at large.  It has become my habit to describe the situation by using the image of nuclear radiation.  On any given Sunday, when I step onto the chancel to lead the congregation in worship, I can look out into the congregation and almost see a neon green irradiating light emanating from the faces and bodies of those present for worship.  They look jumpy, jittery, sparking and arching, almost unable to attend to worship because of the radiation.  Their faces are not irradiating like Moses’ because of the glory but because throughout the week they have exposed themselves (sometime knowingly and sometime unknowingly) to degenerating, dehumanizing and spiritually deforming powers and presences.   For six and a half days of the week, or about 97% of the hours in a given week, my congregation is salted into “the world,” and when we consider our ministry to unbelievers the percentage is even higher.  For much of the time we are the “church scattered” (to borrow an idea form Richard Halverson, an idea that has positively and powerfully influenced the thinking and strategy of our senior pastor) but while scattered, are we salt, light and leaven for the world or are we “plugged-in” to the world? 

We’re plugged in through computers, televisions, ipods, pda’s, cell phones, radios, bad books, water cooler conversations and even through the billboards we see on our way to work.  Many of us are unreflective and passive while we are plugged-in, and when we plug in we are exposed to and injected with what I’ve come to imagine as radioactive material.  It’s radioactive material, however, that is attractively packaged, glittering and appealing; it’s material that feels soft to the touch and tastes sweet to the mouth but is material that dulls the mind, hardens the heart, sours the stomach and deforms our lives.  The liturgy of our people has become daily gathering this unholy manna; this radioactive material has become our daily feast.  The effect of imbibing so much of this material in an increasingly unreflective way is that our lives slowly become inhospitable toward life, life expressed through the gospel and through the Eucharistic, life experienced in creation, history and community; life experienced in Christ and found in Christ.  I look out at my congregation and my desire for them is that they “cool down,” that they sit, stand and kneel in the presence of God and allow the radioactivity to emit off and away from them.  For some the experience of “cooling down” is extremely uncomfortable and for others they cool down only to plug back in after lunch on Sunday. 

I hope I’ve not painted too pessimistic of a picture, Beverly Heights is actually a wonderful and largely healthy church and I am truly privileged to be one of its pastors.  At times, however, I feel as leaders of the church we need to engage in a full frontal campaign of exorcism against the spirits of this age; to grab our hoses and scrub brushes and begin to cleanse our congregations of this radioactive material.  So Dr. Peterson, how do we engage in conversation in community in such a way that identifies the demon and calls it out, thereby excising the mind of the church and the culture?  Is this something we should even think of doing?  And if so, how do we do so without jealously and eagerly asking, “Lord, shall we call down fire from heaven?”  If I am honest with myself, I sometime relish the thought of fiery hailstones falling from heaven.  Does some of the church’s responsibility lie in encouraging active resistance against the evil spirits of this age?  Was the liberated generation’s failure to inherit the land the result of their failure to continue resisting Egyptian evil following their salvation? 

My imagination was also captured by your description of your growing interest in the French Revolution and how disappointed you were when you studied the subject formally in college.  None of the classes seemed to give voice to the excitement, danger or conviction that was present in the revolution.  You remarked that you may not have known much about the French Revolution before taking the class, but one thing you knew was that it was a resistance.  It seems to me that there can be no revolution, no substantive change without resistance.  Does spiritual theology and spiritual formation retain some aspects revolution?  Is there an element of resistance necessary in order for formation to flourish?  Is resistance necessary to create room for Christ to play? 

As I think about the challenges that face ministers and the church in the years to come, I believe that some of the solution and encouragement for pastors is found in your discussion of the word “Soul.”  You write,

“‘Soul’ carries with it resonance of God-created, God sustained, and God-blessed.  It is our most comprehensive term for designating the core belief of men and women…The term ‘soul’ works like a magnet, pulling all the pieces of our lives into a unity, a totality…But in our current culture, ‘soul’ has given way to ‘self’ as the term of choice to designate who and what we are.  Self is the soul minus God.  Self is what is left of soul with all the transcendence and intimacy squeezed out, the self with little or no reference to God (transcendence) or others (intimacy)…‘Soul’ is a word reverberating with relationships: God- relationships, human-relationships, earth relationships” (Peterson 36-37). 

This is another instance in which I experienced sympathetic resonance with what you have written.  The world needs pastors with soul not self-help pastors who can help form men with chests (to borrow yet another line from Lewis). 

In the summer before my junior year at Geneva College I changed my major from secondary education in Biology to Christian ministry.  One of the major influences upon me in making that decision was the teaching of Dr. Byron Bitar.  Dr. Bitar was the professor of philosophy at Geneva and some of his classes were part of the core liberal arts requirements of the school.  The Christian ministry program required a few more classes in philosophy and by graduation I had taken enough classes to minor in philosophy.  My experience with Dr. Bitar was one of those rare occasions where a professor becomes a friend.  I continued to learn from Dr. Bitar even after graduation, meeting with him and one other once a month to read and discuss the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche.  Dr. Bitar was someone with whom I shared in “back-and-forthness…engaged in considering, exploring, discussing, and enjoying not only the subject matter but also one another’s company.”  Dr. Bitar was always encouraging, he encouraged me in my calling to the pastorate and he told me he thought I’d make a good pastor.  He once shared with me his belief that all true pastors are philosophers.  He said that the work of the pastor and the philosopher were the same, to wisely and lovingly lead others in the knowledge of the good, in the knowledge of God.  Furthermore, he said that in order for philosophers and pastors to do that job well they needed to be magnanimous.  I remember specifically, Dr. Bitar encouraging me to be magnanimous.  As a steward of words I’m sure you will appreciate this, and you likely already know this, but as I came to find out magnanimous literally means “greatness” or “largeness of soul” magnus + animus.  

It seems to me that if pastors are going to have any success in leading men, women and children away from the dehumanizing and deforming powers of our culture and spirits of this age it must be done in tandem with moving folks toward a culture and community of magnanimity.  Pastors must have a largeness of soul to minister God-created, God sustained, and God-blessedness in others.  Pastors need a largeness of soul that pulls all the pieces of our lives into a unity and totality and provides the basis for helping to bring cohesion and integration to the lives of those who are dis-integrating, irradiating and falling into degradation.  Pastors need a largeness of soul that reverberates with God-relationships, human-relationships and earth relationships and echoes those relationships toward others.  Pastors need a largeness of soul that provides vision for seeing the expansive playing fields of creation, history and community and empowers the ministry of opening up blind eyes.  Pastors need a largeness of soul in order to have the space that receives folks who are irradiating without calling down upon them fire from heaven.  In short, it seems to me that pastors need to be magnanimous in order to minister magnanimity in others, helping men and women to regain their dignity, their humanity and their calling as bearers of God’s image, bearing in the world and for the world magnus animus. 

Just to round out the story, Dr. Bitar later died of cancer in 2004.  He was an excellent friend, an invaluable partner in conversation and much of who I am as a Christian I owe to him.  I miss him deeply.  My experience with Dr. Bitar has taught me that people need friends like him who see the necessity for and take the time to enlarge souls; to nurture the formation of men and women’s souls so they can be a nurturing and forming presence in the lives of others.   So as I come to the close of this letter Dr. Peterson I want to thank you for this conversation, your investment in other through the books you have written, your concern for pastors leading in the spiritual formation of others and your time in participating in this independent study. 

On a somewhat related note I wanted to share with you that I recently purchased a copy of The Collected Works of Gerard Manley Hopkins as well as a book of poems by W. H. Auden and John Donne.  I regret that I have not read much poetry in my lifetime but I hope to spend more time in these books as well as in my copies of Paradise Lost, The Divine Comedy and a book of poems by Edward Taylor.  Your encouragement to read poetry (along with Ken Myers and T. David Gordon) seems to me to be an excellent way to nurture one’s soul in greatness.  I’ll write again soon after I’ve finished reading Eat This Book.

Blessings,

Nate