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.

Down in the Tube Station At Midnight (or anywhere, anytime of day)

Every so often, I have a guest commentator on my blog. Today, my guest is my husband, Rick Dougherty. At the dinner table, Rick related the story you are about to read. I felt it was vital and important; a story that needs to be shared and thought about deeply. This is a story about people in the Bay Area, about homelessness, about addiction, about suffering. It is also a story about intuition, compassion and engagement. I hope you will take this story to heart.

***

I was coming home from work in San Francisco today, heading down the escalator to the BART station, and noticed a young man in a grey hoody and jeans standing near the turnstile. His backpack lay against the column behind him and, as people walked past to head down to the trains, he was asking for fifty cents.

Normally I would have walked past, but something about him caught my attention. He had a very gentle demeanor, a soft voice and spoke very well. He was very thin but didn’t seem to be ill or worn like so many of the homeless do. I had taken this all in as I put my ticket into the slot and walked through the stile, and was about to move on but instead, just out of curiosity, I turned back and asked him where he was going. For a moment he looked a little puzzled, so I said that fifty cents wouldn’t take him very far. Then he gave a slight smile and a conversation ensued that moved me deeply.

He told me he was just trying to get enough for something to eat, and when I asked him where he lived he said he was from Danville but hadn’t been home in three years. He had been sleeping on benches at the airport along with many other homeless people. The police would walk past them every night on their way to eat but so far didn’t seem interested in them. I asked why he didn’t go back to his parents and he said that they had thrown him out of the house because he had become hooked on heroine.

Before it all fell apart, he had seemed to have a great life in store. He loved baseball and was a great pitcher, a lefty with a 90 mph fastball, and had received a full scholarship at St. Mary’s. But at the end of his sophomore year a teammate saw him shooting up at a party, and when the news got out, he was not only off the team but was expelled from the school.

He said that in the past three years he had overdosed eight times and that each time the medical team had been able to revive him, the last couple of times only barely. You’d think having gone through that he would have learned his lesson, he said, but within half an hour of being released he was out looking for his next fix.

I told him my own family had been riddled with alcoholics and I had learned that the only person who can save an alcoholic, or an addict of any kind, is themselves, so there was nothing I could do for any of those family members but walk away. I said that it was because of that experience that I was reluctant to give him any money. To my surprise he said, “No, don’t give me any money. I’ll just go buy heroine with it.”

I asked if he had looked into any treatment programs that could help him, and he said that he didn’t think he could make it through the twelve-to-fifteen month programs. But if he didn’t even try to grab onto a rescue line, I replied, the there was no chance at all that he could change his fate. But if he took that very first step, he might begin to feel the confidence that he could control his life and could regain the determination to see it through and pull himself back up on his feet.

He shook his head again and said he wasn’t sure he could do it. I told him that in the end there were parts of him trying to run his life, his body and his mind, and that he would have to decide which one would run it in the end.

He nodded solemnly, as did I. I wished him well and we shook hands. Then I headed down to the trains.

***

This is a simplified version of the story from the way it was told at our dinner table, but that is the whole story.

There are a great many things that could be said about the story you have read, but the one aspect I want to draw your attention to has to do with engagement. 

I know that I have had similar encounters with people, over the years--people who were, for all intents and purposes, struggling to deal with something. Who knows what it was that made Rick turn back? I can only think there is some sort of intuition involved. 

We will never know if anything Rick had to say to this young man will have a lasting impact (he has survived overdosing eight times, but cats only have nine lives), but I cannot help but feel that when we follow the intuition that tells us to engage,--that it is not only okay, but we need to engage--this opens a pathway for positive change.

In your dark night, whose face was it that made you smile? Whose warm hand touched yours? Whose kind word or funny joke? How was the darkness dispelled? What unexpected encounter changed your life? 

When you pass people huddled on the street or in the tube station or in the airport, what is it that will make you talk to one of them? Are you tethered to a virtual muffler, or are you tuned to what is happening around you?

Whose life might you unknowingly influence for the better?

One last thought: We shall all be changed, of that there is no doubt. If we shall all be changed, let it be through compassionate, caring engagement.

The Jam: Down in the Tube Station At Midnight

Bell Jar Studies

3.

Puffs of smoke,
a soft and fragrant music,
rising slowly,
dissipating.

Entranced,
will follows the traces,
until there are none left.

What remains:
emptiness.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen