Divine Subversion

Last weekend, I committed an uncharacteristic oversight: I forgot my book at home when Tarayn and I went to the beach. In the car, however, I had a "New Horizons" (the OPC denominational magazine), the current "Banner of Truth" newsletter, and a Bible. I skimmed both periodicals, and then decided to experiment with speed-reading books of the Bible in order to get an over-all feel for the content. I ended up reading Micah.

Reflecting on the strangeness of the prophets, I thought of the contrasts between what I had just read from 2 reputable Reformed monthlies and what I had encountered in Micah. Other than obvious differences such as inspiration, canonicity, ancient Near-Eastern situatedness, and the like, I was struck by the fact that both periodicals were noticeably self-congratulatory, whereas Micah was not, and that both magazines were rather arcane in their content and concerns, whereas Micah was speaking from within his culture to the pressing issues of his day. More than that: he was creating the issues of his day from within the matrix of his society.

Pondering these differences, especially the second one, prompted a recollection of my church history professor's rule of thumb for separating heroes from villains in the annals of the church: "In every generation, there are those who withdraw from the age, those who go along with the age, and those who confront the age." Simplistic, yes, but there's truth in it. Let us call those who withdraw "separationists," those who accomodate "accomodationists," and let us designate those who confront "subversives." I designate those who confront the age "subversives" because prophetic effectiveness seems to be tied to a limited integration within a societal universe. Micah spoke, not in generalities, but as one who was familiar with the places and the practices of Israel. He was a participant in his culture as far as that was conscionable; and in what was unconscionable, he confronted as one who knew--that is, he subverted from within.

Also, as I read a disappointing article from Ian Murray on John Knox, I thought that another difference between the prophet and the "Banner" articles was the depth of the sources. (I am speaking of both texts as merely human documents at this point, of course.) There seemed to be an existential de profundis in the prophet's words that I could not detect, in any degree, in the magazines'; a depth, not merely of feeling, but of experience. I think that you all know what I mean: you have heard a gardener speak movingly of her plants, and you have read a poet speaking tediously of love. The de profundis aspect has little or nothing to do with the topic, and everything to do with the experiential nature of the knowledge that is shared. Micah moved me, it startled me, it disoriented me, and yet there is much that is repetitious in his book, if one reads the other prophets. However, I found little else but tedium in my periodicals, mostly, I thought, because there was no depth of experience in them (also partly because the prose was bad).

Returning again to the arcane nature of the articles that I hastily read, it seemed to me that in the concern of the orthodox to avoid accomodationism, we have slipped, sometimes intentionally, into a separationism that has rendered us utterly irrelevant to our culture. (As a side note, this struck me again recently on a visit to a heavily gay neighborhood in the West Village. I couldn't imagine what we could say there that wouldn't make us seem like Amishmen.) If we are to avoid consignment to a parallel existence in this culture, I believe that we must rediscover a "divine subversion," a speaking de profundis from within in order to deconstruct and re-form. It's been done before; look what Constantine the Great did with Roman government, or what Calvin did with the Renaissance and Scholasticism. Submersion in order to facilitate subversion; I have every confidence that it's possible. But let us take care that we do it de profundis; the superstructure crashes down much harder that way.