God’s Seedy Power
August 15, 2021 • 12th Sunday after Pentecost
Scripture Reading: Genesis 1:26-31 (NRSV)
Professor Catherine Keller, guest preacher
You can view the worship video recording, including this message, at:
© iStock Image #157398663, by merrymoonmary, Used by permission
Yes I am Catherine, she/her… and for me/her it is a joy to be back)--even virtually--on the very good earth (speaking of those seeds) of the Church of the Village.
I am honored to take part in this series of introductions to what is called process theology. I can’t imagine better introducers than the first preachers in this series, my good friends Rev. Ignacio Castuera and Prof. John Thatamanil.
I want to pick up where John left off, with the world of process and relation; and with the great alternative reading of God’s power that process theology has been teaching for more than half a century. Alternative to what? To the standard assumption that what we worship is an omnipotent, all-controlling God; that nothing happens apart from the will of God—that if God is in control “he” (very much a he-God) must be somehow willing the evils of the world, the violence, the injustice: because otherwise he would intervene to prevent them. So he wants to teach us a lesson or to punish us…
In other words, God must be somehow willing the current horrors of the world-- this COVID19 plague, the coming collapse of Kabul, the fires, the floods … But sorry, I already preached here a year ago on the Apocalypse. So today the first reading was of the very opening of the bible. The beginning. Not the End.
For in process theology creation is always beginning again. Every moment. With every one of us. Every creature in the universe. We live in a universe of perpetual becoming. In fact the word genesis in Greek means becoming. The creation is a work in process. And what is that process about? Theologically speaking, it is about God’s relationship to all becoming creatures. And that is a relation not of coercion but of calling: the Genesis “let there be.” That letting-be is not omnipotent control but the invitation to become.
The invitation is what in process theology is called the “divine lure.” The lure is God’s offering of possibility moment by moment, to every creature--from a primordial photon of light to all the levels of creaturely life. And yes to each of us humans. Moment by moment: an invitation, not a determination. Not an omnipotent power of creation from nothing--which isn’t a biblical idea: the Bible features a creation from the deep, not from nothing. “You moved on the waters, you spoke to the deep.” The ocean of Gen. 1.2--the waters of primal chaos, of potentiality. (I’ve written a book on that!)
As it happens, that creation from chaos called me in a personal way. I grew up in family of great chaos, psychic damage and alcoholic violence, constant moves, but --PTL--not without love. So the kind of order one can shape out of chaos rather than out of a neat void spoke to me… I am grateful that I discovered process theology relatively early. And soon I landed with the world’s leading process theologian, John Cobb, in California over 40 years ago, where I would study process theology with him. Wondrous that you will hear him yourselves, and for 3 Sundays!
In the creation narrative, God is not giving orders to be obeyed but luring forth our universe. And the creatures themselves are invited to collaborate: the waters, the land and again the waters bring forth the biological life of our planet. And when humans are finally created, we are invited to consciously cooperate in this relational creativity. in the image of God. And with each emergence, God expresses delight--ooh, that’s good! And altogether--wow, very good. That is an ancient prescientific story. But it has resonance with very science-based process theology.
Process theology is about creative relating--or relational creativity. And it is focused not just on our relationships to each other up close but at the same time to a vast world of others. It tunes us to our life right now, moment by moment--and on our choices at each moment--whoever we are, whatever past choices and influences have shaped us. It takes these in as part of the present moment--and calls us first of all to tune to the ultimate relationship--the relation to the ultimate itself, which we here still call God….
We always some have freedom--to respond more, or less, to the divine lure. What is the content of that lure? It is in process theology always a possibility: a possibility for this very moment, a possibility for something more beautiful; more ethical; more loving; something more tuned to the needs of my neighbor; something conducive to social justice, to planetary stewardship and sustainability.
Something better--for you individually. Yet in this vision our individuality is inseparable from all of the fellow creatures of our world. As at this gathered moment we are influential upon each other. And always there’s the element of freedom--for instance to ignore these words, to repress them, or to take them in and allow your own insights to test them…. It is a freedom saturated by its context--by the oddity of this zoom medium, by the beauty of the liturgy and music still echoing. Freedom in process theology can go many ways: can be the irresponsible response--as in why should I get vaccinated or wear a mask, it’s my free choice. Or freedom can express itself in some degree of responsiveness, responsibility, to the lure to enhance the health and life of our world and ourselves as part of that world.
But the divine lure is not the same as other relations--it precedes them moment by moment--letting be, letting become. The divine lure seeds each moment with fresh possibility. Possibility, not certainty. So there we are in the great parable of Mt 13. As soon as I received the invitation to be part of this series on process theology, the parable of the sower called out to me. There may be no better illustration anywhere for the divine lure. For the lure is precisely the seed of possibility.
Matthew’s parable makes clear that God’s will has nothing to do with some coercive power, some all-controlling ruler. The seeds are tossed, a great multiplicity of them. They are so delicate, so obviously the opposite of a word of command. Yet Jesus is talking about the “kingdom of heaven.” And so here and elsewhere in the gospels when kingdom language is used --the Greek basileia--we must not miss the irony. Jesus is teaching a kingdom not of this world of rulers, of coercive powers and oppressive structures. But the very opposite: a basileia grown of these generously thrown seeds, each landing gently, almost imperceptibly, forcing nothing. This alternative kingdom is a subversive mockery of authoritarian power. That is why some us sometimes pronounce kingdom as kindom.
These delicate seeds land--wherever you are. Whatever you are. You might be going about your own business, going your own way. So you may resemble that path some seeds fall on--they don’t have a chance. You don’t notice them, and the birds enjoy them. Or you might at the moment be a bit hardened--like the rocky ground--and the seeds do sprout, you give new possibilities a chance--but they can’t get rooted, your hard, stony places block growth, your virtuous responses remain shallow. And so new possibilities get scorched and wither. Or your life is too full of thorns, of tangled complexities, unresolved grief that tears into the moment or hurts that jab and turn to aggressions--thorny issues that choke off new growth. And there is also all that good soil: you take in the seeds and you yield a rich harvest. But notice that the sower is not micromanaging this agricultural activity: this is no condescending up close daddy-god, this tosser of seeds.
As I prepared for this sermon I was taking in the new and devastating UN report on climate: “Code Red for humanity”--still barely enough time for us to make the big difference needed to prevent environmental cataclysm. And I recognize that sometimes I just ignore it and like the impermeable path of the parable go about my business; or I do little shallow things like self-righteously turn off the lights behind my husband; or I get tangled by all of the thorny complications of dealing with other pressing issues personal and political --and amidst the thorns I do next to nothing. And then maybe sometimes I take in the possibility for making a difference, and some grain does grow…
My point is about process theology’s lure. God is offering possibilities even now. And certainly here, in this church! But it is up to us to realize them, to take them in deeply enough to bring them to fruition. God will not step in and fix climate change or any other crisis, not even my intimate ones--this God does not work like that, the universe is not created that way: God tosses to us the seeds of possibility. And we actualize them not at all, or a little bit, or fruitfully. And this sowing is always going on, moment by moment. There is always a new beginning--and we can singly and collectively ignore it or make superficial changes--or actually grow that basileia together.
But do I really want to call these possibilities seedy--with its suggestion of “gone to seed,” of shabby, indeed like a seedy reputation, sordid, dirty. A seedy dirty basileia? Well of course that is exactly how the classy folk saw the homeless Jesus and his riffraffy movement. That lowly Galilean bore no resemblance to Caesar. So the full range of seediness might keep us honest. And that dirt--isn’t that metaphorically and materially the earth, the ground, of our shared life?
Process theology has God seeding the world--not just once at the Big Bang, or in occasional interventions, but moment by moment--amidst whatever shabby scenes. And global warming is starting to make those smoky, burnt, droughty or flooded scenes proliferate. But God did not will this summer to be the hottest on record. God is not deliberately permitting climate change and the human injustices it will amplify. Humans are doing it, and some of us--probably not worshippers at the Church of the Village--much more than others. But God will not step in and fix it. Nor is this God’s plan for the end of the world.
The process God doesn’t send disasters to punish or teach us. But certainly those seeds of possibility do call us to learn lessons from any disasters we face. God does not do the repair work for us but does make it possible. We may take in the seeds or not or just kindasorta. The seed does not determine what kind of soil we are; what kind of soil we are determines if we heed the seed. And there are always real social, relational or psychological reasons for our stoniness or our thorniness-- or our receptivity. But then how we respond in this moment, responsibly or otherwise, influences all of our relationships and can change our social world. This is a vision of an earthy relationality in perpetual process.
But the process God is not only the purveyor of the lure--the sower of the seeds. The one who seeds possibilities. This God is also the one who receives whatever we become--moment by moment. That is another aspect of the kingdom of heaven--it takes in all that takes place, it hosts the world, it integrates it within God. God in other words feels all that happens. Feeling it all in its living process--in its joys and in its sorrows. As in the body of Christ in Corinthians we are members of one another, which is to say, interconnected but extremely different members of a divine body. As John Thatamanil made clear last week: the process God is not the medieval Unmoved Mover. Making everything happen, and unmoved, unaffected, by any of it. Process theology says this: God is not the Unmoved Mover but the Most Moved Mover.
Unlike classical omnipotence, God’s power is the power of a relational love to seed possibilities and then take in (harvest) their actualizations. That means--to receive all that can be received, all that does not simply contradict the love of God, the God that is Love. But this cosmic love does take into itself the traumas and the suffering… So as you heard last week, Whitehead called God “the Fellow Sufferer who understands.”
In this way God is also in process, is also becoming--not static and not changeless. Doesn’t that detract from divine perfection? Not at all. God is perfect--in the sense of whole, wholly good, loving--but not in the sense of changeless, static, eternally the same. The Creator’s continuity from aeon to aeon is expressed in the cosmic process of uncontrolling creativity.
And so we do not pray to this God to fix our problems for us. But to inspire us, to lead us, to teach us how the chaos and the seediness of our lives can be creative. Our rock-hardness can be broken up, our thorns less prickly. And if this is true for our own funky lives, with our moods and issues…It is all the more true for our collective life, with its global delusions, destructions, code red. Its lost chances. But also its last chances.
We pray to you who “let be” the light of our galaxy, who called forth over billions of years our astonishing Earth, who delights and suffers with all of us creatures-- we pray that we may together grow the seedy possibilities of your will. On Earth as it is in heaven. Amen.
Benediction:
Spirit of gentleness
Spirit of restlessness
As you stir us even now to become who you are calling us to be, realize what you are luring us to do… Each and all together, ever more widely…ever more deeply. May we take into our earthy life those seeds you sow, may we nurture them mindfully, now and now and now and endlessly.
Amen.
(c) 2021 Catherine Keller
All rights reserved.