Heretics and Their Beers II
May 16, 2011
First, a blessing from our dear reader Josh:
Bene dic, Domine, creaturam istam cerevisae, quam ex adipe frumenti producere dignatus es: ut sit remedium salutare humano generi: et praesta per invocationem nominis tui sancti, ut, quicumque ex ea biberint, sanitatem corporis, et animae tutelam percipiant. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen
Bless, O Lord, this creature beer, that Thou hast been pleased to bring forth from the sweetness of the grain: that it might be a salutary remedy for the human race: and grant by the invocation of Thy holy name, that, whosoever drinks of it may obtain health of body and a sure safeguard for the soul. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Of all beeresies, Docetism is the single most pervasive. Because what seem to many to be good beers in fact are terrible beers. We’ve all heard it before, “No, really…it’s a good beer.” I’m afraid to tell you, it is pork swill, worse, it is putting you in dangers of the eternal fires of hell, which do exist for all beeretics despite whatever Rob Bell and Karl Barth told you.
And thus the Theophiliacs shall not back down from it’s duty to preach the whole gospel. Speaking the truth in love, we will proclaim the pure light of the everlasting word against all foul attempts of the enemy to deceive with pretty labels and fancy sell-words like “European.” We all know he appears as an angel of light.
So consider closely the following beers which often fly under the docetic banner:
PBR – “But Tony, you’re a hipster, aren’t you? Or at least that’s what all your friends tell me. Aren’t they supposed to like PBR?” I don’t know if my skinny pants and ironic smile make me a hipster, but the nostalgic revival of this vile beverage is most unfortunate. Yes, the tall can is romantic and pretty, it makes you think back to a bygone age when you could work a blue-collar job in Milwaukee, come home, sit in a lounger in a sleeveless T-shirt in front of a fan and beat your wife, but despite what people tell you, this beer is a crime against the name, no better than any of it’s other cohorts of lesser repute – I’m looking at you, Miller!
Heineken – It’s hard to know whether to describe the beer or just say that when I was a waiter, the only people I saw drink this were 45 year old slick-haired polo-shirt-wearing business men ‘dating’ 19 girls who drank this between vodka-red bulls to keep the night going. A mass-lager is a mass-lager is a mass-lager, even if it’s from Europe and comes in a fancy green bottle.
Killians Irish Red – Look, I can add red food coloring to urine, chemically modify it to form a thin head when poured, bottle and chill it, but that doesn’t make it good. This sad flavorless ale utilizes it’s bright color to trick people into believing it is better than it is, but drink it alongside a Hamm’s Can and you won’t be able to tell the difference. Especially unfortunate is when anyone in Minnesota drinks this child’s drink, what with Finnegan’s Irish Amber in so many venues. Not only is it delicious, it’s made with real potatoes and all profits go to charity!
Stella Artois – cf. Heineken, only add the travesty that it’s $9 for a six pack and some scorn on the fact that it has social respectability. ”Ooohhh, is that Stella Artois? My, aren’t you fancy?” No ma’am, he’s just a benighted fool taken in by the fact that, having drunk it, he’s allowed to say “Artois” 20 times to sound cool.
Blue Moon – Aspiring to be the Budweiser of Wheat Beers since 1995. I mean Coors brews it for god’s sake! It’s one thing to add an orange slice because it’s a beautiful yet unnecessary touch to an already fine beer, it’s another when the citrus only masks the flavor of shame.
Heresy is no laughing matter, and docetism has struck most of us at various points. Often we don’t know better. But beware! You must hold the catholic faith to be saved, and now you have been warned. Turn away from these beers and return to the true doctrine.
On Not Quite Agreeing With +Will Willimon
February 28, 2010
In the most recent edition of The Christian Century (of whose blog network we are a “featured blog”), Methodist bishop Will Willimon addresses some of his previous work – most of which was done in tandem with his holiness Stanley Hauerwas – with a bit of embarrassment.
“In the student’s puerile response you hear an echo of your own pronouncement – but on undergraduate lips the thought sounds unbearably stupid. I’ve come to feel a bit that way upon rereading Resident Aliens” p22
In the article +Willimon goes on to repudiate the idea that “Christianity is a practice” because he thinks that it fails to account for the distinctives of Christian belief. He worries that the approach previously espoused by himself can run the risk of old style Christian liberalism that universalizes and unparticularizes the faith, rendering it one practice among many with a formless god.
I absolutely sympathize with the bishop’s belief that emphasizing “practice” can collapse any sense of “orthodoxy” into a moralism of “praxis.” Liberalism is pretty lame. BUT…
The idea of separating one from another is indicative of a wrong view of both “orthodoxy” and “orthopraxy.” Not too unlike the false separation of “theology” from “spirituality.”
If I might be allowed the indulgence of disagreeing with someone who will most likely forever be known as one of America’s greatest bishops, it is by our “practices” that we can come to know anything of “the qualitative difference” between God and ourselves.
On the one hand there is the practice of daily devotion and the celebration of the Mass, especially the Eucharist. These are the “practices” which shape our minds, bodies and hearts to think as the Church. Reading Scripture, praying in word and in silence, confessing our sins, praising in doxology – these in part teach us how to the know God as the Church knows God. +Willimon should fear that we will have any content to our faith without these “practices.”
And on the other hand, we put our worship into action with other “practices…” Justice, mercy, compassion etc… These too teach us of the God we worship. If we “practice” just the “devotion” and neglect the “justice,” we fail to be Christ in the world; and if we reduce the faith to moralism we malign our God revealed in Jesus Christ.
But, and here’s the kicker, it’s all “practice.”
So don’t despair of your previous work bishop Willimon, it’s still good as gold.
Growing Up Episcopalian: An Orthodox Satire
August 9, 2009

The following essay was written by my imaginary friend for a short bio he needed for a church project. I’ve posted it here with his permission.
By: Linus Spindrift
I grew up in a die hard progressive Episcopalian family. We attended Holy Communion weekly and were very involved volunteering in our local community. I always loved church, even as a child. The bright colors of the vestments, the candles, the smell of incense (our parish was quite high church) and mystery of the Eucharist enticed me from an early age. As I grew older, I came to appreciate the values and morals I learned from our priest and felt myself growing into my place in the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church.
At the same time I felt myself coming of age into the body of Christ. I also began to recognize that there was something different about me. In my early teenage years when the other boys were just starting to discover what freedoms there were available to young, viral men in a liberal movement, I began fantasizing about having a future wife and a family. Long after my friends grew out of praying and singing to God, I continued the Christian disciplines on my own, secretly, still believing that maybe, someone was actually listening to me.
When I was fourteen I made the mistake of confessing to my best friend that I read the Bible privately, for no reason other than the fact that I enjoyed some of the stories and thought that maybe God might be speaking to me through them. He was shocked and couldn’t understand how anyone could ever feel that way. He thought that maybe I was threatening him.
“You’ve never felt that God was ever saying anything to ME through the Bible, have you?” he accused me, visibly disgusted that I would ever even consider it. The truth was, I really had felt like God might be wanting me to encourage him in some small way, but after this confrontation, I knew my fantasy of discussing Christ with my friend would never be realized.
I quickly denied it and tried to pass off the whole conversation as joke but it didn’t work. Word spread quickly around school that I was a “bigot.” Kids picked on me and called me “ignorant” and “hate-mongerer.” I lost all my friends who treated me like I had some sort of disease. I had to change prep schools.
I learned from this experience that there was something inside of me that was deeply and utterly wrong. But I knew with the help of almighty Knowledge, I might be able to be healed of my unnatural attraction to Traditional Liturgy. At my next school I tried really hard to be a good, liberal Protestant. I never told anyone what I believed or why I believed it ever—even if they asked me and seemed like they genuinely wanted to know. I apologized to every minority I could for colonizing their land. Whenever I met someone who acted like they knew God in an intimate way, I quickly joined my friends in accusing them of being an exclusivist and a fundamentalist.
There were a few occasions while reciting the creeds at Church when I felt a powerful urge to confess them as a believer. I soon learned, however, to always quell this forbidden desire, knowing that it was more natural for me to join in the doubting gymnastics all the other parishioners were performing in their minds.
Things went really well like this for a few years. I graduated high school and completed my undergrad at a local private college (Double Major: Sociology and Arabic). I entered the discernment process and prepared to enter seminary. Along the way I tried really hard to be attracted to other religions. I had a fling with Buddhism for a few years and thought that I might even marry it with Christianity to make some sort of super religion. Ultimately, it didn’t work out, however. My buddhist companions said that all I ever wanted to do was talk. That’s when it all fell apart.
I had my first Christian Conversion experience in the deserted men’s locker room of a YMCA. A stranger was praying silently at his locker next to mine. He had his Bible out to Luke 23. I approached him, thinking I might enlighten him on how Jesus didn’t actually resurrect from the dead but that it was OK, since society was ethical enough now not to need him to have resurrected anyway. He listened patiently to my statements. I thought I was doing him a favor just by tolerating his blatant bigotry right there in public. He pointed to the verses that discussed the other criminals being crucified with him. He asked me to read verse 42.
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” I recited, surprised that the hateful man was using a scholarly translation.
He asked me what I thought that verse meant. I gave him some disjointed answer, and now I’m not even sure what I said. At some point I realized I had no idea what that verse meant. That’s when he proceeded to tell me about his previous intimate relations with Jesus.
I wont go into the details (I understand that descriptions of these intense situations can still be offending to certain progressive sensibilities) but what followed can only be described as absolute freedom. I felt that years of lies and deceit fell away from me as I embraced who I really was—what love really was! It hit me in that locker room: I was an Orthodox Christian—a flamer on fire for God. And my life would never be the same.
I kept my discovery a secret for another few months. On the weekends I would sneak out secretly at night to a library in a seedy part of town to discuss N. T. Wright with one, two or sometimes even three others like me. I developed an addiction to hardcore patristics on my home computer. It was a secret life that I couldn’t contain. I was excited and shaken and scared all at the same time. I met a beautiful Christian woman who came from a nice family in the suburbs. Her name was Beth. We fell in love. She was the one who gave me the strength to come out to my parents.
“Mom and Dad,” I began slowly, “I’m…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m a fallen sinner in need of redemption.”
My mom just about flipped out. My dad just stared at me emptily, disappointed. They’d always dreamed of me growing up to be a world renowned professor of comparative religion at a public college where I could debunk the myths of Evangelical undergrads. Now here I was talking about the Trinity—in their home! Worse, they were immediately distrustful of the clean-cut, well-mannered and traditional Beth and I’m so proud of her for enduring so much suspicion for those first few months.
At one point my mom asked, “Linus, have you ever tried… just, not… being Orthodox?”
She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand that this was who I was now. Maybe even who I’d always been.
A few years have passed since I came out. Beth and I are married now with two kids. Thankfully, my parents have slowly come to accept my alternative way of life. I think once they saw that my Orthodoxy wasn’t hurting anyone—that I could still love people even if I disagreed with them—they warmed up to the new me. Over these years I’ve had some time to reflect on my journey and the prejudices of those I grew up with. It has occurred to me that maybe some of the stereotypes associated with Orthodox Christians might not be too far off from some of us, and for this, I’m disappointed.
I’m happy to report that I’m still an Episcopalian and I’m still in my same liberal diocese. I love my church, for all the reasons I did as a child, plus more. I’m more than happy to minister along side of, accept communion from, and serve under the liberals I once tried so hard to be like. I am a catholic Christian after all! It’s difficult sometimes because many in my diocese still don’t accept me. But I believe God can change hearts.
I still hope to be a priest some day but the opposition is strong. It’s hard to change old patterns and there is still a lot of distrust of Orthodox Christians amongst progressives. The current climate in the Anglican Communion hasn’t helped heal these perceptions. From my studies, I’ve learned that ordination isn’t a right, but a privilege, a service that one is called to—not earned or deserved. I pray that God would one day call me to that place of service to his Church. Until then, I’ll just have wait and keep telling my story.
Flux II: Why Old Stuff Matters
May 29, 2009

“Flux” is a continuing series on my year visiting churches of various Christian traditions.
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I first experienced Eastern Orthodoxy as a 21-year-old traveling through Ukraine. Even then, the tradition enchanted me. At the time I was interning with a missions organization working in Eastern Europe. I knew that many of the churches we were helping to plant were located in heavily Eastern Orthodox or Roman Catholic areas. It was also become increasingly clear that these traditions were undoubtedly Christian, perhaps in some ways even more Christian than me. So why are we evangelizing Christians? I wondered.
It was the opening spark of a lesson that took me a few years to learn: old stuff matters.
By “old stuff,” I mean the bulk of the ancient practices and symbols many modern Evangelicals (both intentionally and unintentionally) learned to de-emphasize or ignore. In my studies, I realized there were a number of questions I’d never fully explored: where did the Bible come from? who first outlined concepts like the dual-natures of Christ and the Trinity? what is our modern conception of hell based on? Many of the answers to these questions were found in studying the first few centuries of Christianity, an area of scholarship sometimes called Patristics or a little more broadly, Christian Origins.
I learned that whether one recited the creeds in church or not, they were formative and part of our shared Christian heritage. Whether one appreciated liturgy or found it dull, it was influential in shaping modern forms of worship. I learned that Sacramental theology left a precedent for how we expected to experience God–even if one didn’t look for Him in Eucharist anymore. Most importantly I learned that issues like church governance, division, authority, human sexuality and the role of the Church in the world were problems as old as Pentecost.
Perhaps most poignantly, however, I was struck by how bewitching the tradional forms of worship could be. The ancient liturgies enchanted me, the Icons arrested me–I felt myself being pulled into something older and bigger and altogether more enveloping than my previous, more individualistic Church experiences had been. All my life, I had endeavored to maintain the right belief or “Apostolicity*” of my faith. But it wasn’t until my year of visiting Churches, that I was first introduced to its commanility or “Catholicity**.”
* (Apostolicity in this case, just means the faith of Apostles, or what was handed down to us.)
** (Catholic not in the Roman sense, but in it’s older meaning of ‘universal’ or ‘entirety).


