Here is a quote from B.B. Warfield, from his essay “Augustine”, which can be found in the book, Calvin and Augustine. It is a beautiful declaration of God’s grace. To Warfield, Augustine’s big contribution to the church is the recovery of the doctrine of God’s grace.
It would be altogether a mistake to suppose that Augustine consciously discriminated between the theology of grace, which was his personal contribution to Christian thought, and the traditional Catholicism, which he gave his life to defend and propagate. In his own consciousness, the two were one: in his theology of grace he was in his own apprehension only giving voice to the Catholic faith in its purity. Nevertheless, however unconsciously, he worked with it a revolution both in Christian teaching and in Christian life, second in its depth and its far-reaching results to no revolution which has been wrought in Christian feeling and thought in the whole course of its history. A new Christian piety dates from him, in which, in place of the alternations of hope and fear which vex the lives of those who, in whatever degree, hang their hopes on their own merits, a mood of assured trust in the mercy of a gracious God is substituted as the spring of Christian life. And a new theology corresponding to this new type of piety dates from him; a theology which, recalling man from all dependence on his own powers or merits, casts him decisively on the grace of God alone for his salvation. Of course, this doctrine was not new in the sense that it was Augustine’s invention; it was the doctrine of Paul, for example, before it was the doctrine of Augustine, and was only recovered for the Church by Augustine.
The Suffering of the Poor.
Poverty was a different beast during the Great Depression, and the politics of the poor was super-charged by the spread and seeming strength of Communism which claimed to be for the poor. While her politics were more sympathetic with Marxism, it was her connection with the humanity of the impoverished and the awareness of their suffering that galvanized Dorothy Day’s passion for the poor. Her turn to Catholicism grew out of her awareness that Christianity was a message of hope to the poor, and that God has a passion for the poor and the marginalized.
If we ourselves are not poor, and we do not truly know anyone who is poor, then we can allow poverty to remain political and theoretical for us. But God knows the poor, and he cares for them. I was struck this past Christmas with how amazing it is that Jesus was born poor. If the goal of the Incarnation was for God to become human and to die our death for our forgiveness, then certainly any human life he lived would have been sufficient. He could have come as royalty, right? But he did not. He entered human life and lived it as most of the world lives it, poor. When we in the church forget that, and we ourselves are not poor, we have lost a vital part of being the Church.
Dorothy Day reminds me that I need to take off my blinders, look past my own problems and supposed “poverties”, and see those whom God cares for, and act accordingly.
To Serve the Poor, Be with the Poor
Distance is the big challenge when we seek to help the poor. Not only is it hard to truly see those who suffer poverty, it is hard to do more than help from a safe distance. To enter the lives of the poor feels risky and is very uncomfortable. Not that I can speak with great authority, but I do know the fear. Dorthy Day was convinced that having compassion in God’s way meant living with those suffering. To quote this passage again:
One must live with them share with them their suffering too. Give up one’s privacy, and mental and spiritual comforts as well as physical.
The houses of hospitality were a place for such living with. Fraught with challenges, as her autobiography admits, it is also a risk that we are called to take. This reminds me of the school of thought now current that involved those of more means moving into a poor neighborhood to throw one’s lot in and to make a difference every day. I suppose there are different ways of being with the poor, but the importance of such a risk is great as Day teaches. Is not this what the Incarnation is all about too? Jesus came and “dwelt among us”, to quote John 1.
The Importance of Community
Dorothy Day’s conviction of needing to live with the poor is part of the overall importance she places on community. Here is where the title of the book comes in, The Long Loneliness. Only community can sustain us in the midst of the loneliness of our life:
“The only answer in this life, to the loneliness we are all bound to feel, is community. The living together, working together, sharing together, loving God and loving our brother, and living close to him in community so we can show our love for him.” Page 243
“We cannot love God unless we love each other, and to love we must know each other. We know him in the breaking of bread, and we know each other in the breaking of bread, and we are not alone anymore. Heaven is a banquet and life is a banquet, too, even with a crust, where there is companionship.
“We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.” Page 285-6
These are the words that end her story, in the Postscript. It seems this is the great lesson God has taught her over the course of her life and work, and it is what she has to teach us.
The Church is the place where we can, with God’s help, break down the distance between us and others, especially others very different than us. It is the place where in our loneliness we can find the love of God with and in one another.
I recently finished the autobiography of the American Catholic, and potential saint, Dorothy Day. She spent her life working for the poor, and doing so in community. It was an enlightening read.
I picked up this book after reading Eugene Peterson’s The Jesus Way. Born in New York, and raised in San Francisco until the great earthquake made her family relocate to Chicago, her father was a left-leaning journalist. Through her reading and contacts even as a child, she came to identify with the poor, even though her own family was of modest means. Working for the poor became her life goal from early on:
“I felt even at 15, that God meant man to be happy, that he meant to provide him with what he needed to maintain life in order to be happy, and that we did not need to have quite so much destitution and misery as I saw all around and read of in the daily press.” (p. 38)
She became a journalist herself and was dedicated to the trade union movement of the 1920’s, even being imprisoned on several occasions. Her first experience of prison strongly confirmed her passion for the poor:
“Never would I recover from this wound, this ugly knowledge I have gained of what men were capable in their treatment of each other. It was one thing to be writing about these things, to have the theoretical knowledge of sweatshops and injustice and hunger, but it was quite another to experience it in one’s own flesh. ” p. 79
After a long struggle with faith, she converted to Catholicism, the faith, as she saw it, of the poor, bringing about the demise of her relationship with her daughter’s father. During the social ferment of America in the 1930’s she co-founded The Catholic Worker with Peter Maurin, who profoundly influenced her work for the poor. This was not only a newspaper for the people, but was also a movement centered around houses of hospitality, where she lived in community with the poor. This living with was very important, as she says in her autobiography:
“Going around and seeing such sights is not enough. To help the organizers, to give what you have for relief, to pledge yourself to voluntary poverty for life so that you can share with your brothers is not enough. One must live with them share with them their suffering too. Give up one’s privacy, and mental and spiritual comforts as well as physical. ” p.214
The first house of hospitality was in the slums of New York, and was to provide shelter, food, and other necessities for those in need. The key was the living together. This was not a place where one received services, but rather lived in community with others. Day and her associates lived there too. In time this work expanded to communal farms around New York, including near Easton, PA, not far from where I live. The houses of hospitality idea spread around the country; there were over 30 affiliated communities by the 1940’s. And there are over 100 around the world today.
Dorothy Day is a controversial figure due to her counter-cultural and even bohemian early life. Abbie Hoffman called her the first hippie, which she did not disavow. She was also a pacifist during the run up to World War 2. And she had many contacts and sympathies with Communism as an ideology at least. But her dedication to the poor, which flowed from her Christian faith, has earned her much applause. There is currently an effort to canonize her in the Roman Catholic Church.
Pope Benedict put her mixed legacy well in his last Ash Wednesday address:
In her autobiography, she confesses openly to having given in to the temptation that everything could be solved with politics, adhering to the Marxist proposal: “I wanted to be with the protesters, go to jail, write, influence others and leave my dreams to the world. How much ambition and how much searching for myself in all this!”. The journey towards faith in such a secularized environment was particularly difficult, but Grace acts nonetheless, as she points out: “It is certain that I felt the need to go to church more often, to kneel, to bow my head in prayer. A blind instinct, one might say, because I was not conscious of praying. But I went, I slipped into the atmosphere of prayer … “. God guided her to a conscious adherence to the Church, in a lifetime spent dedicated to the underprivileged.
I have always had a great respect for the Roman Catholic Church for the great work it does for the poor, and I was aware of the name of Dorothy Day as one involved in that work. It was good to learn more about her. There is so much more to learn and there is a lot available. She wrote some other books that shed more light on her work and all of her articles written for The Catholic Worker from 1933-1939 are available online at the excellent Dorothy Day Collection (http://dorothyday.catholicworker.org/). I look forward to delving in more deeply.
So what do I learn about ministry from Dorothy Day, this Catholic laywoman? That’s the next post…
In my previous post I wrote about Andrew Johnson, the man who became President after Lincoln was assassinated. Here I share what I learned from a reading of his life in Hans Trefousse’s biography of Johnson.
1) Convictions can blind us. Generally, one’s strengths are also one’s weaknesses. Johnson’s stalwart, devil-may-care clinging to his beliefs, led him to act unilaterally in restoring the country as he thought should be done. Being sympathetic with the South, and not a supporter of the ex-slaves, he set a very low bar for re-admission to the Union. Actually he believed that the southern states never truly seceded at all since in his reading of the Constitution a state could not legally remove itself from the Union. So as long as they ratified the 13th Amendment and made a vague promise of loyalty, they could come back. Congress generally thought otherwise, and fought against the President. It was a confusing time, and I don’t claim to understand it, although I am looking forward to learning more as I read Grant’s biography. But it is clear to me that it was wrong for Johnson to claim sole authority to bring about restoration, ignoring the many opinions and ideas being circulated. He was certain he was right, and refused to consider the ideas of others. And the country suffered for it.
2) How do we use the power we have? We all have beliefs and convictions. When do we stand by them “to the death,” and when do we compromise and strive to work with those who have other convictions or beliefs? As a pastor, I certainly have my non-negotiables, and many of these I share with the leadership of the church I serve. But beyond those, my responsibility is to lead with, not over, the lay leaders. I may have strong opinions about what we should do in a certain area, but so do my leaders. It is not for me to simply enforce what I want, even if I can. My calling is to work together with the leadership to find solutions and to make decisions. And the more crucial the decision, the more important that is. The future of our church, not unlike the future of the country, is not solely up to me to decide. Nor was it Johnson’s. And when you act as though it is your decision, you may find yourself impeached, just like Johnson.
Use the power you have, but don’t exceed it, not just for your own good, but for the good of the church too. Johnson, because of his bullheadedness, squandered the opportunity the country had to do Reconstruction right. Instead, the course was set for a future of continued racism, white supremacy, and Jim Crow.
3) Integrity under fire, even when you deserve to burn. Andrew Johnson deserved to be humbled for his arrogance and his over-stepping, but he was acquitted of the charges brought against him in his impeachment. There was no evidence of “high crimes and misdemeanors”. And everyone really knew that. But, drawing on that inner well of conviction, Johnson weathered the storm with integrity. He continued to do his job, did not strike back at his enemies, and kept the course he had always followed. After his generally failed presidency, he even had the wherewithal to get elected to the Senate again. That impresses me. Is that well of conviction in me strong enough to see me through adversity, deserved or undeserved, and keep me working for what I believe in?
I don’t want to do what Andrew Johnson did, and I don’t think I will. But my certainty of that may be simply because I know I don’t have the strength of conviction that he had. Does that make me stronger? Or weaker?
Some years ago I embarked on the odyssey of reading a biography of every U.S. president. After watching a program on the American Revolution I was intrigued by the story of Benedict Arnold and got a book out of the library on his life. That led me to read a biography of George Washington. And I was hooked. Reading biographies teaches me much about history, but also about living and working in the world. I just finished Andrew Johnson, by Hans L. Trefousse, a well-written and readable biography of one of lowest ranked presidents. Andrew Johnson is famous for being the Vice President left with the daunting task of picking up the pieces after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and for being the first U.S. President to be impeached. While no one could have effectively followed Lincoln, one of our greatest presidents, Johnson did a really poor job of it. He deserves his low rank among our presidents because he squandered the opportunity to integrate ex-slaves into the nation. Instead he entrenched the racism that would yield the Jim Crow south that would reign until the Civil Rights era. Still, I learned a lot from reading about his life, and I do think of him more highly than some of the other presidents whose biographies I have read. I actually found much to admire about Johnson. One of the oddities of presidential history is that some great men have been mediocre, or even bad, presidents. It all depends on what they face, and how they face it. Johnson was a natural leader and an effective politician. He rose from poverty, not exactly to riches, but certainly to prominence, being first a renown tailor in Greeneville, Tennessee. He quickly moved into local political leadership and then served 10 years in Congress. He was elected Governor and then Senator. Through it all he consistently pursued economic responsibility and championed the cause of the farmer and tradesman, his people. Even at the federal level he stuck to that program even when he had much to gain by “compromising”. This won him the support of the people, something he always believed he retained, but also made enemies of many of his fellow Congressmen and Senators. Johnson became Lincoln’s second Vice-President because of his stalwart support of the Union even as the south seceded and the war began. He refused to go along with the South not because he was against slavery, for he was not, but because he believed the challenges the country faced could be solved by working within the Constitution. He was willing to defy most of his own state, at great personal danger, in this belief. Lincoln noticed and first installed him as Military Governor of Tennessee, and then made him his running mate for his second term. Not long after the election, and the Confederate surrender at Appomattox, Lincoln was assassinated and Johnson became President.
I have never really thought much about the challenges the country faced after the Civil War ended. What do you do after half the country has rebelled and then lost? How do you rebuild? What do you do with the rebel leaders? These are the difficult questions of Reconstruction. One of the great “what-if’s” of history is what if Lincoln had not been killed? What would he have done to rebuild the nation? No one really knows. But Johnson believed he knew. And he did it no matter what anyone else, even Congress thought. Next time we’ll look at the lessons I learned from Johnson, from this bottom-of-the-barrel President.