From the Minister

The Wounded Healer

By John G. Stackhouse, Jr.

By now we've all heard the latest about Ted Haggard, former pastor of New Life Church in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and former head of the National Association of Evangelicals. Brother Haggard -- and, as a fellow Christian, he is my brother -- was found to have been having sexual relations with a male prostitute in Denver. He resigned in disgrace, and has since been in counseling.

According to the February 6 issue of the Denver Post, the four pastors in charge of overseeing New Life Church in the wake of this disaster made a surprising -- to some, an astonishing, and to others, an absurd -- announcement. One of them, Rev. Tim Ralph of Larkspur, Colorado, was quoted as explaining Haggard's three-year relationship with the man in these terms: Haggard "is completely heterosexual. That is something he discovered. It was the acting-out situations where things took place. It wasn't a constant thing."

Columnists have had a field day with this recent announcement, of course, with many wondering what stresses could possibly drive a "completely heterosexual" man into the arms of a male lover. Others have simply gotten the story wrong, saying that Haggard is claiming to have been "cured" of homosexuality in just three months, rather than the years that might be expected for rebuilding such a basic component of one's personality -- if indeed such a thing is possible at all. The media circus continues.

In all of this, I am reminded of the late Henri Nouwen, the superb spiritual writer who taught at Harvard and Yale before spending his last years in pastoral service at L'Arche, Jean Vanier's community for the developmentally disabled. Nouwen also wrestled with homosexuality -- "wrestled" with it because his religious beliefs, like Haggard's, diagnosed it as a deformation of the personality.

Also like Haggard, Nouwen maintained a position of spiritual advisor to many. His sexual difficulty did not disqualify him from offering his considerable gifts to others -- nor should Haggard's have kept him from pastoral service.

Unlike Haggard, however, Nouwen refused to engage in preaching or public activism against homosexuality. He avoided, that is, any risk of incurring the taint of hypocrisy, which is a far more serious problem -- in the Bible and in the public eye -- than is homosexuality.

Nouwen gave us the lovely phrase, the "wounded healer." Some have exploited this term -- as all lovely things are vulnerable to exploitation -- to suggest that you can be entirely comfortable with all manner of sins and still be a spiritual leader. You can be proud, you can be lustful, you can be greedy, you can wrathfully dismiss dissenting colleagues, and on down through the seven deadlies -- but hey, you're a "wounded healer" and darned popular -- in other words, "blessed in your ministry." So it's okay, right?

No, says Nouwen, by word and by example. Serve, yes, offering your God-given talents to make God's beloved world a better place. But serve out of consciousness of your wound, which means to serve in humility, in compassion, in patience. "There but for the grace of God go I."

Nouwen's insight is that, clergy or not, we must not wait to become perfect before we help others. We can help them, that is, precisely as fellow sufferers, with genuine fellow feeling -- but also with a strong and clear sense of our limitations. And even if you've never been a fan of Ted Haggard, nor of the populist celebrity-evangelicalism that he exemplifies, you can still cultivate sympathy for him, for his family, and for his church.

And, thanks to Brother Nouwen, we can also better recognize that our wounds may not be healed right away, nor even over months or years.
According to Nouwen's theology, God may well allow some of those wounds remain a while -- for as we endure their pain, their shame, and their debility, we may be given the gift of remembering just how needy each of us is, and how great the possibilities of restoring love.
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John G. Stackhouse, Jr., is Sangwoo Youtong Chee Professor of Theology and Culture at Regent College.

Sightings comes from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.

Shock and Agape

Shock and Agape
by Spencer Dew

Banners currently hanging from several Australian churches feature the words "Jesus Loves Osama" against a camouflage background. These splashy "advertisements" have been generating headlines, stirring the public, and drawing comment from political and religious leaders. Prime Minister John Howard claimed to "understand the Christian motivation" of churches hanging this banner, but urged parishes to "understand that a lot of Australians, including many Australian Christians, will think that the prayer priority of the church on this occasion could have been elsewhere."

Presumably this priority should be with the neighbor and the stranger -- two other categories of people Christians are called upon to love and serve -- and not with the enemy. But these banners market one of the gospels' most radical theological claims, Christ's love for all humans, and they call on viewers to follow suit. Beneath the emblazoned words, the banners feature a proof text from Matthew 5:44, where Jesus speaks in the imperative: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Terrorism, like these banners, functions as advertising, a jolting spectacle to publicize the specific message or point of view of its perpetrators. The burning cross or bombed clinic shares this purpose with Super Bowl ads or Burma Shave signs. A witty hook, a catchy jingle - these are meant to surprise and to lodge themselves in the memories of those who witness them. But in both forms of discourse, the medium surpasses the message. These Australian church banners have gotten attention, but what have they actually communicated?

Peter Jensen, the Anglican archbishop of Sydney/New South Wales, feels the signs are "misleading." The basic theology is correct, but without some nuanced explanation, the statement itself can be read as implying approval for terrorism. "What we've got to say is, 'Jesus doesn't approve of Osama.' It makes it sounds like, 'Oh, Osama's doing the right thing.'"

The banners, linking the terse contemporary theological mandate, the scriptural imperative, and the colors associated with desert conflict, certainly can be seen as direct, if ambiguous, commentary on the current wars. How one is to interpret the relation between loving one's enemies and war is unclear, though surely some will read the signs as denunciations of war in general, while others will associate them with specific critiques of the situation in Afghanistan or Iraq. Moreover, linking the words of Jesus with military symbolism may spur readers to consider the situations of subjugation out of which many of Osama's supporters emerge. While it is outrageous to see these signs as condoning acts of violence, they could certainly suggest zealous resistance to oppressive political forces.

"If I were a relative of one of the victims of Osama's activities, I might take affront at this," said Archbishop Jensen. Indeed, relatives and surviving victims of the 2002 Bali bombing have been among the most widely heard critical voices. David Stewart, who lost his son Anthony in the attack, asked, "What is the world coming to?" "That bastard killed 202 people, and hundreds and hundreds more and now we're going to forgive him? Š. That is ridiculous."

Yet according to the logic of these signs, "Osama" is merely an extreme stand-in for any of us. While New South Wales Baptist Union spokesman Alan Soden paraphrases the sign's message as "Jesus loves us all, no matter who we are or what we may've done," Melbourne's Anglican Archbishop, Dr. Philip Freier, takes things further, claiming that no matter the body count or publicity on Osama's sins, the daily, ubiquitous sins of society matter just as much in the eyes of God. While "we are all loved by Jesus," says Freier, "Jesus does not love terrorism, acts of violence, sexual abuse, stealing, lying, greed or any other selfish acts." Jesus, this suggests, doesn't approve of Osama's actions, but Jesus doesn't approve of many of our actions, either.

This shock-advert tactic, by hijacking headlines, has provided broad media platforms for voices which would otherwise be -- literally -- preaching to the choir, and has, through its discomforting juxtaposition of the worldly and the divine, forwarded the gospel message as an indictment of, and a challenge to, all people. Reverend Neil Harvey of Wangaratta had some reservations about hanging the banner, because "Osama is a very provocative name to put there, but the message of the Christian gospel is that Jesus does love us even though we don't deserve it." Ultimately, such believers suggest, the gospel message is that repentance and redemption are universal options, "even for you and for me and Osama."

Good news? Certainly a radical alternative to this "ridiculous" world. As Archbishop Freier says, if people were to take on the words of Matthew 5:44, "the world would be a different place. It would be a place of tolerance, not terrorism." And shouldn't that be everyone's priority?

Spencer Dew is a PhD candidate in Religion and Literature at the University of Chicago Divinity School.

Sightings comes from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.