Priesthood or Discipleship? Where does authority truly lie?

One of the news items this week had me thinking, once again, about the programmed failure of organized religion to be equitable to all people. The pastor at small Roman Catholic parish in San Francisco has declared that girls will no longer be allowed to serve at the altar. The reason given is that serving at the altar is the first step toward becoming a priest, and since women can’t become priests, that role must naturally be reserved for boys. The Archbishop of the local Diocese allowed this decision to stand.

[Before I continue, I want to be clear that I am not a Roman Catholic, but belong to a Protestant denomination. I am a practicing Christian, but I constantly question doctrines and practices, believing that many of them are completely in error and beside the point.]

To my understanding, the person of Jesus showed himself to be a radical against the actions of the Temple priesthood. If you really read the canonical gospels, you see that Jesus conveys, in his actions and words, the notion that such hierarchical “management” schemes really only serve to allow a small group of people to control a large group of people (and money), and that the taking of such authority mostly leads toward a sense of entitlement and corruption among the “management class,” not toward justice or service or the addressing of need. More importantly, Jesus sees that the apathy of those who are not in power (all those who are disempowered or outcast) leads them to emulate bad behaviors or actions exhibited by those in control.

Said differently, many average people create and maintain a corrupt status quo by following the example of those in authority. When Jesus spoke to people, he was not interested in hearing about complaints or excuses. He seemed interested in the “what are you going to do about it?” part of any discussion. Whenever he was asked to do something or say something, to judge or to decide, to a great extent, he more often than not eschewed arbiter roles, preferring that people engage in their own problem solving, rather than allowing “the system” to offer the last word. As we know only too well from experience, when we leave anything “to the system,” the results tend to be unsatisfactory.

This is why I think Jesus was not pointing to a new kind of priesthood, but rather advocating for a discipleship of personal engagement and responsibility—even activism. Outcasts were assigned their status on whose authority? If the only authority and judge is a deity, then how can any temporal court make such a determination? Will healing and recovery take place? Will social justice be served? Or is this just a way of dismissing all who are deemed unsavory? These are the sorts of discussions Jesus attempted with his disciples. I rather think he expected such discussions to lead to affirmative action within his community. When affirmative action was not forthcoming, he would resort to “healing” people. He encouraged self-healing and renewed personal esteem.

When Jesus left the scene, things returned to more of the same old same old, all of which hinged (and still does to this day) on “authority.” Who had the authority and who didn’t? Was this to be a dynastic succession or a hierarchical elect? Yes, yes, the disciples were told… Peter and Paul… Stephen… James… someone was left in charge... but what actually happened? Why does “the Church” work in a way that is so different from what Jesus did and said while he was alive?

All we know is what has come down to us: the priesthood “after the order of Melchizedek.” However it was that this came about, whose ever bright idea it was, this is the foundation on which the Christian religion was built. And it is, I believe, in error. The error was made and exists primarily in order to establish and maintain an authority to control people, as well as to lend credence to all those people who have claimed such authority. This method of organization does not reflect what Jesus was teaching, and I am convinced Jesus would think much of what goes on today, under his authority and in his name, is sacrilegious.

If you think about it for a minute, you see that our entire frame of reference around what can be known is built on all that has been known before. College students are asked to express original thoughts, but only if they hang on some previous authority (hence, the need for footnote after footnote, reference after reference, and a pile of book titles). This is how we “prove” our knowledge and our thinking: we read what is out there and then we bring forth our own notions about it, but we must cite authority in order to make our claim.

This may be part of what happened to the early Christian community. Unfortunately, the original message got lost in a power struggle. How this happened, we will never know for certain, but what is clearer to see is that hierarchical power is involved, resulting in control over the masses. Constantine’s adoption of Christianity was purely in order to gain authority, control, money and conformity from a growing group of people. You could even say assurance of complicity was part of the bargain.

A more appropriate way to view the message of Jesus is through the window of the 20^th century Platonist philosopher, Iris Murdoch. Her book title “The Sovereignty of Good” is a kind of summation of what we should have ended up with. What might that look like? Sabbath meetings in which all were welcome, and all who came were fed; studies of Torah and how it could be applied to current community issues; presiders would be different each week, so all could experience and learn benign leadership; discussion of people and their needs, including ideas about how those could be addressed, who would volunteer to help, what could be given now. That is how I would characterize the Work of the People, the Sovereignty of Good.

Instead, what we see from the Roman tradition that has come down to us is an intercessory leadership. A priest is there to order or lend authority and to be an intermediary between an individual and God. In that role, the priest has the power to make rules, to demand obedience, oaths, confession and contrition, and to exact payment for wrongs done. Note: I am being simplistic in this to the purpose of illustrating how far away this is what Jesus presented.

Jesus told people to do the right thing, even if that meant going against a law or an authority figure. Doing the right thing, he suggested from within his understanding of Torah, is what God would want at all times. Doing the right thing is a happier way, a moral way, a peaceful way, the way of righteousness.

I further put it to you that one of the things Jesus did was overthrow the notion that a priesthood was required to lead people to righteousness. Priesthood demands obedience; discipleship requires personal will and action. Those who adhere only to obedience are liable to abdicate their personal responsibility and their will. I am sure that is not what Jesus meant for his followers; certainly, the gospel texts do not convey that message to me. I am convinced, for example, that the passage “render under Caesar what is Caesar’s; render unto God what is God’s” is a direct call to honor the best practices set out in Torah—merely following temporal laws alone is not sufficient to fulfill the commandment, “love thy neighbor.“

To honor Caesar, you must follow temporal laws; to honor God, you must have the will to be responsible, to honor and support all people in all ways, every day.

The author of the letter to the Hebrews declared Jesus to be a priest "after the order of Melchizedek." The person of Melchizedek figures very abruptly in, then disappears altogether (!) from Genesis; but for a mention in one Psalm. The reference from Genesis in the letter to the Hebrews is used to lend authority to the notion of Jesus as High Priest. The name Melchizedek means Righteous King, and he comes from Salem, which means Peace--clearly, this is highly metaphorical passage, intended to lend authority to people in the situation described in Genesis: a shift in dynastic leadership polity from the sons of Aaron to the sons of Abraham.

By contrast, Jesus calls us each to be responsible for our actions, and all responsible to one another—that each person's service to another is a sacrifice and a blessing that results in equity and peace. Neither gender, nor station in life, has anything to do with service or social responsibility, righteousness or godly love. These are all things self-governed, and will-propelled, by love, not ordered by a priest. That is discipleship.

It is too bad “the Church” lost that memo… It is working so hard at the wrong sort of corporate compliance.

Of course, I went through all of this just so I could make the observation that it certainly is most backward and unproductive, if not also decidedly unJesus-like to deny girls the opportunity to serve in fellowship. If the call was to serve, then all should.

Meditations in Fast Times: 23. Not at the farther shore

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                23.

Not at the farther shore,
but the nearest one,
Not only for the ducks,
but for every living thing,
life-giving bread is cast.

When clouds are full,
they empty their tears
upon the grounded years
of all our knowing,
a gift and a blessing.

Loaves divided with love,
fragments of fish add flavor;
give a portion to seven
or even one thousand,
for who knows about tomorrow.

Sacrifice cannot be denied;
we receive only by giving,
water and fire cannot destroy
the meeting of I and Thou—
it is for this that we were made.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Justice

Guarded
by my lady, Python,
it was a sacred bridge
over a toxic chasm;
those rising vapors,
that did not dull or kill,
spoke
to the adept.

Then, someone said:
if such knowledge is power,
they should not have it;
it should belong to us.

First came one hero,
who slew Python
and kept her skin
as a trophy.

Then came another,
who stole Tripod
and kept it
as a trophy.

Then they made copies of it,
to give away
at the games
—(the rude joke:
it should be ours, anyway;
it has three legs!)—
as a trophy.

In sum,
the tool was taken
by those who had no use for it,
to become a symbol
atrophied.

The mistake,
in all of this,

was taking the tool
to be equal
to the act
of opening
to the holy granting
of knowledge,

was taking the sacrifice
to be a formula
that could be repeated
and reenacted,
written, embellished,
—even redacted
and gutted,
like the snake—
as if the ritual
would always result
in the holy grace.

Deafness and blindness
are the modern trophies
of such hubris;
beyond this truth,
Oracle continues to hear,
but will not speak.

© 2013 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Volition

within the stream of consciousness,
contemplation flows
—about and through,
even melding together—
so that all local molecules
shimmer with union and integrity;
a music of central calm and silence,
of gratitude for being.

all at once,
the call comes down:
the Gentle Whisperer is thirsty,
but the river is dry.

what to do?
            barren clouds and angels
                        whispered amongst themselves:
who will go for us?

which query unraveled the silent music,
faltering the molecular dance,
tearing at the seams of togetherness,
halting flow and thoroughgoing of contemplation.

the crisis registered to one-mind as a challenge.

having returned to now from Now,
i can say i am in this place,
and i will gladly go for us
—quick pour me in!

and so the challenge was answered:
mindful contemplation restored
the river of life
by pouring in the stream of consciousness,
the new water of thanksgiving.

in the way of weather,
the river was drawn to the clouds,
which grew heavy with joyful tears,
and celebrated with a watery dance.

the Gentle Whisperer tasted the libation
and pronounced it good.

the drought was over.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Radiating

             —for R. E.

here i am,
all the while here,
borrowing
against the debt of time;
tsunami tides have risen,
shifting the center of gravity.

where i am,
here in this nether-while,
is out of kilter
—all that i have known
altered, washed away,
and i am spent.

here i go,
time to give it up,
the gift that gave one place;
time to gently kiss it,
and place it on the altar
—walk away; don’t look back.

down go i,
down off the high mountain,
burrowing through cloud,
confounded by returning,
again and again,
to the altar of my sacrifice.

down, i go up;
up, i go down
—the mantle of damp
clings to my soul,
adding weight & gravity
to my sorrow.

Here you are,
you who have sought solace,
in this place of mine and yours.
You cannot abandon
what is a part of you,
for it is lifeblood.

Be where you are,
neither up nor down,
but centered in this lifeblood
—feel the still point of our peace
radiating through your song,
and in your journeying.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Memorial Day

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept this flesh,
this flesh that once breathed
and walked carefree above ye,
little knowing, little knowing.

We have committed much to death,
where we might have planted seeds for peace;
we have committed too many to war,
where flesh has lost to gross weaponry,
and, dear earth, you have lost holy ground,
to the insanity of blood and rubble.

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept this flesh,
accept this sacrifice
we made unknowingly,
and now painfully regret;
please let us consign to you
the body of our honorable servant,
late and lamented, spent
—renew the sanctity of your guest.

Then, allow us to attend to thee,
oh, gentle—oh, most holy earth,
—to tend those wounds
we made in the name of death,

to amend for our grievous sin
against you, against life,
little knowing, little knowing.

Open, oh holy earth,
open and accept now this flesh:
a living sacrifice
to life and renewal,
to seeds and growth,
to nature and nurture,
to love and life,
to life loved,
as never life
has ever
been
by us
but, nevertheless,
is
in you.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen