And then I had a nightmare...

Well, I suppose that is what happened - I rarely remember dreams, and last night was no exception.

I had many wonderful thoughts about the Baptism of the Lord this week. My images ranged from 'firstborn of all creation' bringing about cosmic redemption... and the first revelation of the Trinity when Jesus was baptised... and how his ministry began at the time... and I nearly got chills thinking of "Behold the Lamb of God." Typical of me, but still quite marvellous. Then, last night, to quiet myself when I was frustrated that I could not seem to retrieve my scholarly quickness, I spent a wonderful hour of lectio divina, reading Karl Rahner's "The Need and Blessing of Prayer." So, one would think that, even with my current uncomfortable sleeping arrangement (see previous post), I would have slept the sleep of the just, perhaps with dreams of divine doves descending.

No such luck. I suppose it stems from my having studied 18th and 19th century Evangelical trends in depth recently. (...Dare I admit that, given a choice of the two, I'd have found the 18th century to be a far more fun and interesting time to live? ... At least if I were wealthy, or knew some rakes who were... oh, but I digress.) I loathe the 'family is the Church - full stop' attitudes, in any century, and am far too sacramentally minded to go for some extremes in the Evo market. But there are a few other big differences in my approach.

Though I certainly believe that Christian commitment will lead to a stronger sense of virtue (and therefore moral behaviour), I seldom think of Jesus of Nazareth primarily as a 'moral teacher.' Now that I think of it, those who did rarely wrote of virtue in any case. The unavoidable undertone is 'what wickedness will people do if they do not fear hell?' (Thus the conclusion that unbelievers were uniformly wicked...)

None of my reflections, writing, or teaching ever centred on hell. I believe that our sinfulness indeed is a barrier to intimacy with God - and intimacy is that in which prayer consists. Yet I awoke during the night, in a panic, suddenly fearing that God would send me to hell. (What on earth I dreamt I had done that would place me on that road I do not know.)

It made me shudder. God keep me from ever seeing the life of prayer (with Karl Rahner, I use that term to mean more than time spent praying formally) in terms of reward and punishment. Love does not spring from either concept.

Yesterday, in particular, I had been studying a text regarding Puritan trends in Victorian England. Englander, a fine writer and historian, had painted a vivid picture of the sombre Christian - workaholic, always fearing wasting time, so conscious of having to account for every moment on earth that the entire effect is joyless. I shuddered at his description (based on writings in journals of the period - apparently the 'blog of the day' in some circles was a rigid examination of every possible personal sin and elaborate expressions of penitence) of self-punishment - of whipping oneself (... no, I did not read about those who literally did that) for every fault lest one be condemned.

It reminded me vaguely of Margery Kempe, with her endless desire to make a general confession. Margery, who was of some means, hired various confessors to accommodate this need. I found it telling (and hilarious) that the only confessor who endured this daily recital was one who did not understand English... Still, Margery was pre-Puritan by several centuries. I suppose I'd prefer Margery's pilgrimages to the dour Christianity that arose, first at the Reformation, then as a backlash against the 18th century excesses.

But were all of the Victorians so devout... or were they just being proper? Obviously, that would vary greatly from person to person... but did 'serve the Lord with gladness' not jog them now and then? The evangelical element (and this without denying their many accomplishments) could never get past the concepts of fallen nature and atonement at the Cross - to the Incarnation, Resurrection, Ascension and our deification.

Perhaps we should dwell on the full meaning of Jesus' baptism just a bit more. (Hint: it certainly had nothing to do with saving him from original sin inherited from Adam.)