In hoc signo vinces

March 7, 2023

Memorial of Perpetua and her Companions, Martyrs at Carthage, 202

May I speak in the Name of the living God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Victim or Victor?

At the beginning of our Christian story, it seemed to be both.  I am holding in my hand the bronze crucifix that I wore for my confirmation. By definition, a crucifix bears the three dimensional image of the crucified Christ, the corpus. In this crucifix the image of Christ is in relief. Arranged in letters above the corpus are the words “in hoc signo vinces,” Latin for “in this sign conquer.” Many will know that these are the words in the vision that was received by the Roman Emperor Constantine before the battle of the Milvian Bridge in 312 CE.  However, it wasn’t the image of the crucified Christ that Constantine saw but instead the image of the Chi Rho which actually appeared with the Latin Phrase, “In this sign conquer.” Constantine instructed that the Chi Rho be placed on the standards which led to his success on the battlefield,— and well here we are!  The Chi Rho, though a beautiful Greek symbol for Jesus Christ — does not quite have the same effect as a depiction of crucifixion with all its pain and horror. Because of this association with death as opposed to belief in Christ as the living God, the cross was not in common use at this time. But those who were converted to Christianity knew that to witness to the truth of Jesus Christ meant sacrifice and bloodshed.  Long before Constantine’s conversion,  and the Edict of Milan, the battle to be conquered was more personal and the stakes were much higher. (Holding the crucifix) This means something a little different — that to conquer death, one must be willing to die for Christ, for one’s faith and so to live with Christ. This paradox is at the heart of Christianity, held in tension from the beginning.

In the early years of Christianity, about a 100 years before Constantine and the Milvian Bridge,  the Romans were responsible for the martyrdom of many Christians who also happened to be their own citizens. People will be familiar with the names of the virgin martyrs, Agnes, Cecilia, Agatha, Lucy and Eulalia.  Today, we remember the young noblewoman, Perpetua and her companions who were martyred in Carthage early in the 3rd century. I think that it is fair to say that these Christian martyrs had to conquer their sense of alienation in Roman society.  Technically, they weren’t martyred for their Christian faith, but for what they wouldn’t do — that is, offer sacrifice for the emperor. Christians were considered atheists because they refused to honour the emperor in this way, but not all Christians were subjected to this treatment. While Perpetua and her companions were incarcerated, they were helped by two deacons who moved freely, baptising them and even interacting with the authorities to provide for their needs.  The conflict that Perpetua and her companions find themselves in is echoed in the reading from Esdras that speaks of the “burning wrath of the great multitude” who force God’s people “to eat what was sacrificed to idols.” Their Christian faith prevented them from committing idolatry, and yet in the eyes of the Romans they were anything but religious.

The account of Perpetua’s martyrdom gives specific details about conquering the connection to family. The scripture passage from Luke comes to mind: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26) Perpetua’s father begs her to reconsider and offer sacrifice. On one visit he actually throws himself at her feet, which must have been a very humiliating thing to do for the Pater Familias, the head of a Roman household. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Much like Perpetua herself, her father is willing to break away from his own culture out of love for his daughter.  On his last visit when he is beaten for being so persistent, Perpetua is grieved, but remains firm in her resolve to suffer as a Christian.

Perpetua must also conquer her connection to her child, whom she loves. When her infant son is brought to her to be breastfed, she is relieved and shows concern for his wellbeing. Later, when her requests to have him brought again to her are ignored, she is reconciled to her father’s decision to deny her request. As well, the other woman in her group, her servant, Felicitas, gives birth to a child while she is imprisoned. Here are two women who will give their children up to be raised by relatives, to willingly suffer a martyr’s death rather than deny Christ.  They are not only giving up their natural bonds but also conquering the fear of being hated for their choice.

From the beginning, Perpetua comes across in this narrative as the leader of her companions, with a spiritual status that outranks even her brother, Saturus. In an effort to conquer her fear, Perpetua experiences a vision of  herself as a gladiator. She sees herself as a man in combat with another man. This vision informs her that this will be an epic battle with the devil himself. In light of how Perpetua presents herself before the crowds later on, the image of the gladiator is not necessarily about her identity, but instead is a symbol of her inner strength derived from her community as a believer in Christ. She is actually described as a “true spouse of Christ,” even though she isn’t a virgin. Regardless of her bodily status, it’s the state of her soul that is inviolable. After being attacked by an animal, she searches on the ground for her hair-clip because she wants to look presentable to the crowds. This gesture, which to our minds may seem odd, is regarded as a wish to look triumphant and not in mourning. Make no mistake — this is not vanity. Perpetua is conscious that this is an opportunity to witness her faith before the crowd, to become  “like gold tested in fire” as described in the reading today.   In the end, she  takes a gladiator’s trembling hand and guides it to her own throat.

 In the account of Perpetua and her companions there is a need to conquer isolation and doubt. They individually make a choice for Christ, but community is a critical piece in their martyrdom story. Jesus states in the gospel of Matthew that “many will fall away and they will betray one another and hate one another.” This would be more apt to happen if they were alone, rather than together in community. During their last meal together, they try as much as possible to make it an agape meal.  And at one point in the narrative, Felicitas is in danger of being held back from the day of martyrdom with her companions because she is pregnant. The Romans would not put a pregnant woman to death.  Alone, without her companions, surrounded by criminals, Felicitas could have easily and very humanly succumbed to fear and intimidation.

The martyrs bear witness to a time of great persecution of God’s Church, but what can we glean from this for ourselves in the 21st century? During this season of Lent, does a narrative like this strengthen us or are we tempted to think about it as an historical footnote from the early Church? Perpetua and her companions refused to comply with the state because they were being asked to do something that was contrary to their Christian beliefs. How much of the Christian Church aligns with the cultures that it finds itself living in, and do any issues merit second thoughts? How often do we as Christians comply and stay silent when we are invited by the Spirit to speak up?  In the 19th and 20th century we have seen that compliance with the state has sometimes resulted in destruction and abuse. Since that day on the Milvian Bridge, it has sometimes been difficult to see what is, in fact, being conquered. Things are not so clear cut. We can only pray that in this sign of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit we can conquer all obstacles that separate us from the love of God.  Amen.

Spiritual Direction using Jungian Psychology and Visual Arts

The intent of this paper is to focus on spiritual direction that uses Jungian Psychology in conjunction with the creative process for making art. On an explicit, concrete level, art can be used to reify the directee’s dreams, ideas and visualisations, but perhaps more importantly it can be employed to reveal the workings of the mind and the soul. For this reason, a level of competence with regard to the the making of art is required of the director. Art as a spiritual practice, especially when accompanied by a director, becomes a way of receiving from God through one’s own bodily experience and through one’s own actions. It is a pathway to insight and greater understanding, but it also readies the soul to receive God’s grace. It is this period, before transcendent experiences are even possible, that the spiritual director needs to take the greatest care in her approach to the directee. Using visual art in the service of therapy is not new. Margaret Naumburg inspired many by her studies with children as early as 1943 and she recognised, through an understanding of anthropology, archeology and modern art like the Surrealists, the importance of art as “symbolic speech” to ancient and modern human societies. Art represents and interprets the world but it 1 cannot generate the empirical data in the way science can. Art is the first language of image and symbol. It lacks words or numbers, which are considered more sophisticated ways of communicating meaning to others. For these reasons, although it is a deeply human activity that denotes consciousness, it is sometimes considered by intellectuals to be a discipline of negligible use. Perhaps because of its primitive origins and mysterious status in the developed world, it lends itself well to Jungian Psychotherapy. Although it is difficult to measure the value of art, neuroscience has taught us something about the way in which it is created. We know now “that there is no single ‘art centre’ in the brain, nor does one hemisphere play a privileged role in art production per se.”This suggests that art making is the type of cognitive activity that has the 2 capacity to encourage both creativity and reflection. As well, the study of art-making of autistic children teaches us something about the importance of silence during the creation of art work.3 The need to remain non-verbal when drawing corresponds well with visual art as a means of prayer and meditation in spiritual direction. Visual Arts can be used in explicit and implicit ways in Spiritual Direction. It is a means of deepening a relationship with God in which the director helps the directee to tap into the Unconscious, explore archetypes and metaphors, and facilitate transcendence. Art can play an important role in various aspects of spiritual direction, including the God-image, the triadic relationship of the director, directee and God, and the deepening communication with God . With respect to each of these aspects of spiritual direction, the following art making activities will be discussed: collage, contour drawing, and the creation of the mandala. Some art techniques, that lend themselves easily to Jungian psychology, disable the conscious mind, thereby making a directee more aware of God’s presence. These are tools commonly used by artists as they make their way through the creative process. They disable the conscious mind by distracting it with specific linear tasks that are technical challenges in art and design. While the directee is preoccupied with following instructions, the Unconscious can then reveal itself. The efforts to construct a collage that follows the elements and principles, or to Margaret Naumburg, “Art as Symbolic Speech,”The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 13, 4 1 (Jun., 1955), 436 - 437. Anjan Chatterjee, (2015), “Neurospsychology of Visual Art,” Oxford University Press, 343, accessed 2 February 23 2020, https://responsitory.upenn.edu/neuroethics_pubs/140. Chatterjee, 344. 3 2 create a contour drawing that focuses specifically on the task of seeing, distracts the directee from the incidental content of a composition. Only in reflection can the implicit meaning emerge using critical thinking. The directee can then look back and discern what the Spirit is saying. The process of discernment also needs the eyes of the spiritual director, someone who can help “the traveller read the maps, avoid dead ends, and watch for potholes.” This is one of the reasons 4 why it is so important for the director, who uses art, to have at least a competent level of skill in the language of art and design. A director cannot effectively mirror the directee if she takes visual material at face value, and is blind to nuance and ambiguity in artworks. As well, a director could be unduly influenced by aesthetics which misses the point of creating art for this purpose. This is comparable to admiring someone’s vocal qualities, vocabulary or manner of expression as evidence that the person is developing spiritually. The other critical element with regard to spiritual direction is intentionality. The use of the mandala is an explicit way of approaching spiritual direction using visual arts. Jung observed that “the mandala is an archetypal image, whose occurrence is attested throughout the ages. It signifies the wholeness of the self…the divinity incarnate in man.”Jung used the mandala as a means of meditation.The basic design of 5 the mandala incorporates both the circle, a symbol of the Self, and the square which is recognised in Jungian psychology as a symbol of “earthbound matter, of the body and reality.”6 Engaging in prayer and meditation during meaning making of any kind is critical to the outcome of such works, whether they are procured by implicit or explicit means. The activities suggested for exploration of the God-image, the triadic relationship of the director, directee and God, and deepening communication with God are used to illustrate the way in which participants can access the Unconscious, but they are not intended to be an exclusive list. The God-image for most adult directees has something in common with visual perception. Many people remain fixed in their childhood or adolescence with regard to their image of God. According to James Fowler the synthetic period of faith development can last “through middle age and even into old age.”Similarly, with regard to visual acuity, many 7 people maintain the perspective of children. They do not see with their eyes, but instead revert to memory when creating a portrait. For example, a person who stands over six feet tall, if undirected, will create a portrait from the viewpoint of a small child. When confronted with photographic evidence using a grid, many will deny that their own facial proportions are adult sized, even though the math says otherwise.There are always exceptions to the rule with regard 8 to the spiritual maturity of people who approach spiritual direction, but there may still be something left over from childhood or adolescence of which the directee may not be aware. Any image of God will never be definitive; it is a means of approaching him at a particular moment in William A. Barry and William A. Connolly, The Practice of Spiritual Direction, (New York: Harper 4 Collins, 2009), 145. C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, ed. Aniela Jaffe, trans. Richard and Clara Winston (New 5 York: Pantheon Books, 1963), 334f. Aniela Jaffe “Symbolism in Visual Arts” in Man and His Symbols, (New York: Doubleday, 1964), 3692, 6 3874. James Gollnick, Religion and Spirituality in the Life Cycle, (New York: Peter Lang, 2008), 103. 7 Rocco, P. “The Hero Portrait,” (Workshop Presentation, Ontario Society for Education Through 8 Art Conference. Toronto, Ontario. October 17, 2009). 3 time. In the Protestant tradition, “human creativity and imagination has been viewed negatively with suspicion,” but in contemporary times, there is a more sophisticated understanding of the second commandment prohibiting idolatry. One would expect that members of Christian 9 denominations where imagery is part of their tradition, such as Roman Catholics and Orthodox Christians, to be open to exploring the God-image. It is precisely because they already have a framework, and likely have grown up with anthropomorphic iconography, that they may be prone to resisting any development in their understanding of God and of their prayer life. In the Catholic tradition, this is the reason why Bernard of Clairvaux resisted any type of ornamentation, criticising “lazy monks who rely on other people’s images (those of painters and sculptors) and thus get distracted from interior prayer.”In order to help a directee open up to 10 the idea of the innate God-image as understood in Jungian psychology, the use of the collage can be helpful. This type of collage uses found materials, usually from magazines. It is a highly prescribed process for the directee whose only goal is to create something aesthetically pleasing and eschew content entirely. In the pursuit of aesthetics and not meaning, the Unconscious continues to assert itself during the creative process, even though it remains “under the radar.” Images are chosen based solely on their colour, shape or simulated texture. When the images are assembled they seem absurd, in the same way that dreams are sometimes absurd on the surface, but can be fraught with meaning. This type of activity is merely a prayerful step toward God, but it has an uncanny ability to reveal the inner life of the directee. While the directee consciously chooses according to the elements of design, the unconscious is choosing the content. In the final product, the Self makes itself known and the God-image is revealed. It is not just the individual images themselves that give meaning, but the images in juxtaposition to one another. The relationship of the director, the directee, and God is made both easier and more complicated with the use of visual arts. It is made easier since the transference that is experienced by the directee in therapy can migrate to an art object. A director can experience countertransference, not only from what is spoken, but also from what is revealed in the artworks. This is another reason that the director should have some critical awareness of the language of art. In Jungian psychology, this is where evidence of the archetypes could make themselves known, and a director should be prepared for that outcome. It also places the directee and the director on an equal basis. As well, the relationship is made more complicated because as helpful as art can be, in this context it must serve as an exigency to spiritual growth. If it fails to do that, the developing relationship with God can stall. What is worse, it can transform into an idol. For example, the God-image that the directee creates through collage is really just a shadow of what the Self or the image of God is for that person. Art work, in this context, functions as both a sign which “is always less than the concept it represents,” and as symbol which “always stands for something more than its obvious and immediate meaning.”This is not to suggest that 11 anyone would seriously violate the second commandment, but there is a risk that the art would become too precious and a thing in of itself. Art is useful because it is a visual representation of thoughts and feelings, but a spiritual director must be attentive to what, in fact, is being expressed. She must remind herself that she is not creating a relationship between God and the Karen Buckenham, “Creativity and Spirituality: Two Threads of the Same Cloth.” Religion & Theology. 9 Vol. 18 (2011), 58, accessed February 21, 2020, https://doi-org.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/ 10.1163/157430111X613665. Mary Carruthers, The Craft of Thought, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 84. 10 C.G. Jung, “The Importance of Dreams,” in Man and His Symbols, (New York: Doubleday, 1964), 687. 11 4 directee, but fostering it, using art as a means, not as an end. The creation of the self-portrait 12 using a controlled contour method of drawing is a good way to ground both the director and the directee. It is also a very accessible method to anyone who does not know anything about drawing. Since the director’s role is one of accompaniment rather than therapeutic, it is appropriate and even desired that the creation of art in spiritual direction should be done by both director and directee. Art in spiritual direction is not a spectator sport, nor should it be valued for its aesthetic quality. Controlled contour is a simple exercise that, when done correctly, places the person in a meditative state. The control comes from breathing, and the discipline to record only what one sees without lifting the pencil. Our eyes take in visual information, but when those details are processed and recorded at the end of a pencil, something much more significant than a photographic image emerges. This is especially true when we place ourselves at the disposal of God. Even though he is “wholly other and inaccessible to us,” God can become a presence through art-making.In spiritual direction, the self-portrait is a means of experiencing 13 transcendence and as with all artwork, invites verbal and written responses as another method of reflecting on experiences. A directee’s desire to deepen communication with God will always lead to disruption of some kind. The experience of spiritual direction challenges ideas about God at any point in the directees life. As one’s bodily existence changes so does the relationship develop and evolve. Many people desire the “more fully integrated life” that is derived “from the same source to love God with all of one’s heart,” but may be reluctant to change in order to bring this to fruition.14 They may find themselves confronted with images and ideas that do not correspond to pre-conceived notions of what it means to be a Christian. Used as a means of prayer, art can become a conduit between God and the directee. The directee gains control of the art materials in order to lose control before God. This is one reason why the use of art in spiritual direction can be daunting. The advantage to praying with art is that as a directee experiences stagnation or upheaval, the focus is always outward in the art itself. The work can be examined and reflected upon even as it prompts the directee to experience fear and sadness. It offers a degree of personal safety for the directee and director but also facilitates growth rather than a retreat from difficult situations. In Jungian psychology the Shadow presents a challenge to Christians. When confronted with the Shadow, a directee may resist the idea that this “dark side” has anything to do with God or his relationship with us. Resistance to this archetype gives it the power to influence our decision making. Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way, points to this focus on survival and reproduction as the greatest threat to creativity and to spirituality. It is not a threat because it exists, but because most people are in denial of its existence. As a result of persisting in this denial, some have allowed themselves to be censored where “anything unknown is perceived as wrong and possibly dangerous.”In the presence of God, this particular denial of 15 the Shadow can manifest itself as an unhealthy attachment to material or sensual things, but may also influence what the directee determines to be the nature of spiritual life. For example, Luke16:14-31, the story of Lazarus and the rich man, might be more palatable to some people Barry and Connolly, Spiritual Direction, 41. 12 Karen Stone, Image and Spirit: Finding Meaning in Visual Art, (Minneapolis: Augsburg Books, 2003), 13 10. Barry and Connolly, Spiritual Direction, 148. 14 Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, (New York: Tarcher/Putnam, 1992), 13. 15 5 seeking spiritual direction than the parable of the Talents in Matthew 25:14-30. That parable asks the Christian to take risks with the gifts she has been given. Sometimes people “resist the deepening consciousness, the loneliness, the sense of crisis implied in all growth. They tend even in religious matters, to cling to the things of a child.” It is a normal reaction to retreat to the 16 place that is safe, and it understandable that some directees will try to regress. They may be running from a barrier to spiritual growth that they could not name, or did not know existed. In moments of crisis or turning point in spiritual direction, art activities can act as “scapegoat, a positive enactment of ritual transference and disposal.”They can also act as a means of 17 reconciliation and acknowledging our vulnerability and dependence on God alone for strength. The creation of the mandala lends itself well to this task. As previously mentioned, it offers the directee a way of becoming, and for the director it offers a way of acceptance. Similar to the Examen in Ignatian spirituality, it is a way to look back prayerfully and consider, through the use of the imagination, what God is communicating. Of central importance in the creation of the mandala is the application of abstraction and pattern to represent thoughts and feelings. The mandala is a means of controlling any chaos, not to tame it but to give it form and substance. As the image of the Self, it is a place for healing and synchronicity, where both the directee and director are radically changed.18 When spiritual direction uses Jungian psychology in conjunction with the art making, a sacred space is created for the director and directee as they encounter God. Jungian psychology lends itself well to spiritual direction. It “is a form of transpersonal psychotherapy” that recognises the existence of the sacred.Those who approach spiritual direction in the Christian 19 tradition can assume that God loves humanity, and that he is always communicating to them whether or not they are listening. God creates and redeems them through the work of the Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Christianity is unique in that God came physically into our world to become one of us in Jesus Christ. The gospel of John tells us that “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” (John 1:14) When one engages in art making within spiritual direction, God reveals himself in tangible, compelling ways. Barry and Connolly, in the The Practice of Spiritual Direction identify the “problem of language” and “our tendency to become abstract.”20 Art making embodies that which might remain intangible in words alone. However, when art is incorporated in spiritual direction, it should be used judiciously. If it is used without respect, that is only as an aesthetic experience, it could become merely a diversion from spiritual growth. Spiritual direction that uses Jungian psychology and visual art brings the yearning for God down to earth with human beings and paves the way for a numinous experience.

Bibliography

Barry, William A. and William A. Connolly. The Practice of Spiritual Direction. New York: Harper Collins, 2009. Berrigan, Daniel. “The Catholic Dream World and the Sacred Image,” Worship. Vol. 35 no. 8: (August 1, 1961). 549 - 560. Accessed April 1, 2020. http://myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/login?url=https://search-proquest-com. myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/docview/1300075769?accountid=14771

Buckenham, Karen. “Creativity and Spirituality: Two Threads of the Same Cloth.” Religion & Theology. Vol. 18. (February 2011): 56 - 76. Accessed February 21, 2020. https://doi-org.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/10.1163/157430111X613665.

Cameron, Julia. The Artist’s Way. New York: Tarcher/Putnam, 1992.

Carruthers, Mary. The Craft of Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Chatterjee, Anjan. “Neurospsychology of Visual Art,” Oxford University Press.(2015): 343 - 356. Accessed February 23, 2020. https://responsitory.upenn.edu/neuroethics_pubs/140.

Corbett, Lionell and Murray Stein, “Contemporary Jungian Approaches to Spiritually Oriented Psychotherapy,” in Spiritually Oriented Psychotherapy. Edited by Len Spierry and Edward P. Shafranske. Washington, D.C: American Psychological Association, 2005. Gollnick, James. Religion and Spirituality in the Life Cycle. New York: Peter Lang, 2008.

Jaffe, Aniela. “Symbolism in Visual Arts” in Man and His Symbols. New York: Doubleday, 1964.

Jung, C.G. “The Importance of Dreams,” in Man and His Symbols. New York: Doubleday, 1964. Jung, C.G. Memories, Dreams, Reflections, ed. Aniela Jaffe, trans. Richard and Clara Winston New York: Pantheon Books, 1963.

Moon, Catherine. “Prayer, Sacraments, Grace,” in Mimi Farelly-Hansen’s Spirituality and Art Therapy. Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2001. Naumburg, Margaret. “Art as Symbolic Speech,”The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 13, 4 (June 1955): 435 - 440.

Rocco, P.“The Hero Portrait”. Workshop Presentation. Ontario Society for Education Through Art Conference. Toronto, Ontario. October 17, 2009. Stone, Karen. Image and Spirit: Finding Meaning in Visual Art. Minneapolis: Augsburg Books, 2003. 7 8

Tela Bordada, the Hemorrhaging Woman & Jairus’ Daughter

A few years ago I was in Ottawa at the National Gallery to see the exhibit called Sakahan, which included a large collection of contemporary artworks by Indigenous artists the world over. One of the works from that show kept coming to mind as I contemplated the gospel reading today. This work is called Tela Bordada, which simply means “embroidered fabric.” It was  designed by the Mexican artist, Teresa Margolles.  The design was created by Margolles, but the beautiful embroidery was done by a group of Maya-Katchikei women in Guatemala. You might notice that the fabric that was used for this design is discoloured. The discolouration is the blood of a murdered woman in Guatemala who had been wrapped in the cloth. One wonders why the artist would choose to use a material like this in order to create beauty — why not a clean cloth? What’s the meaning behind this? According to Amnesty International, Guatemala has the third highest rate of femicide in the world. And the police have no interest at all in investigating when women and girls go missing. Likewise, the courts have no interest in prosecuting crimes against females, even when presented with evidence of the crime. Females do not seem to have any value in this society.

The situation that is presented to us today in the gospel does not concern the active abuse or the murder of women but it does point to the benign negligence of a community of people. Blood is also involved. The gospel focuses on disease and death. One woman is living with suffering and at the same time, one girl is dying… Often, when we read or hear the reading of scripture, we are tempted to identify with the afflicted or the disciple, with the one who believes . For example,  preachers don’t often ask us to think about ourselves as part of the crowd that shouts “crucify him,” or imagine that we might be like the people who laugh at Jesus in our gospel today. It is more comfortable to think of ourselves in the room as Jairus’ daughter is raised from the dead than the people who laugh at Jesus. After all we are Christians who believe in the power of Christ.   Mark’s gospel certainly encourages that kind of thinking through the use of dramatic irony. The gospel is written in a such a way that we know what is really going on when those around Jesus seem to be clueless. We are in on the secret that Jesus is the Messiah.  It automatically gives us an advantage over the crowds who follow him, and also, to a degree, over his own disciples. It gives us entitlement to own this story as our own.  Since we know, then we are inclined to side with those who are the marginalised here, which only makes sense. …What I am inviting you to do today is to consider this story from a different point of view, as an observer. It is a story about a woman and a girl. It may be a similar story to some who are listening but even as they listen, they should also consider the context of the first century in Palestine.

The Church has a history of patriarchy, of silencing women and appropriating their stories. I’m not suggesting a conspiracy here; just stating a fact about its origins within the Roman Empire.  The gospels demonstrate that Jesus included women in his mission on earth. That is very clear. He sometimes did things that, in his culture as a Jewish male, must have seemed downright bizarre, like speaking to the Samaritan woman at the well or even having close female friends like Mary and Martha. (John 4: 7-29 and Luke 10:38-42) We also know from Acts that when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples, the Virgin Mary was there as well as other women (Acts 1:14). Jesus included females and the Holy Spirit includes them, but that inclusion within a pre-existing patriarchal culture only meant that the experiences of women were absorbed into the larger narrative. But what happens when we consider these stories like that of Mary Magdalene selected by God to be the first to share the good news of the resurrection, as something on their own, separate from the larger narrative? (John 20:11-18) What if they are uniquely women’s stories within our Christian narrative?

The story of the bleeding woman is one that many women can relate to. We are told that the unnamed woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years touches Jesus cloak and is healed.  Even to venture out into the crowd was risky for her. At the time, she was living under the laws of purity; Leviticus clearly states that even coming into contact with someone’s clothing, would result in  contaminating  that person and rendering them unclean in the eyes of the Jewish community. (Lev. 15:25-31)  Women today often suffer from the same pre-menopausal or endometrial bleeding that isolates them in their own intimate relationships or even socially. There is no product devised that can easily alleviate or contain this type of bleeding because it is sometimes violent, unpredictable and overwhelming. It’s not hard to imagine that the haemorrhaging woman must have worn black to conceal the discolouration of her garments. She must have been weak from anaemia and drained of energy and health. Her mental health may also have been affected because of the social isolation. Today, there are medical solutions that are chemical or surgical that can bring some relief and in the past, the gospel tells us that the woman who was haemorrhaging  had turned to physicians, as well, and “spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.” (Mk. 5:26) By the time she encounters Jesus, she is desperate but still hopeful.

Jairus’ daughter, unlike the haemorrhaging woman, does not ask for her own healing. Her father asks on her behalf as she lays dying.  She is the only female raised from the dead by Jesus,  and she is the only one mentioned in all of the three synoptic gospels,  Matthew, Mark and Luke. She is obviously a beloved daughter and as no other siblings are mentioned in the story, she might be the only living child of Jairus and his wife. She is so dear to her father that he begs Jesus repeatedly to come to his house so that she can be healed. Jairus is a man of high position. His standing as a leader in the synagogue is mentioned three times in the gospel reading so it must be an important feature in the narrative. On his way to Jairus’ house, Jesus is technically rendered unclean because he has been touched by the haemorrhaging woman. (Lev. 15:25-31) Jairus is there to witness this, but he is undeterred. The sanctity and preservation of life, the principle of Pikuach nefesh, overrides any other law in Judaism. (Lev. 18:5) On the way, Jairus is told that his daughter has died. There is no longer the possibility of preserving life once it is gone.  For a second time, Jesus seems to risk becoming ritually unclean, this time voluntarily, by taking the hand of a dead person in order to restore her to life. (Num. 19:11) But since he is the source of life, any impurity is null and void.  Jesus does not flout the law but follows it more perfectly by not just preserving life but restoring it.

In both parts of the gospel, there are groups of people who do not realise who Jesus is. The crowd that follows him on the way to Jairus’ house “pressed in on him” but they did not really touch him in the way the haemorrhaging woman did. That is why it simply doesn’t make sense to the disciples when he asks “Who touched my clothes?” And later when he tells the mourners at Jairus’ house that “the child is not dead but sleeping,” their reaction is to laugh at him. Before anything can happen Jesus must “put them all outside.” In Mark’s gospel, the crowds actively create barriers to faith and healing by their unbelief.  The haemorrhaging woman is isolated and cannot depend upon the community for help. She must physically get past the crowd to receive her healing.  Jairus stands alone as the only man who advocates for his daughter, but he must first get past those who tell him not to “trouble the teacher any further.” (Mk. 5:35) Once he arrives at his home, he would have witnessed the mocking and derisive laughter directed toward Jesus.  Regardless of these obstacles, he perseveres in faith and trust in Jesus. Both the haemorrhaging woman and Jairus act out of courage in the face of disbelief.

  On the surface it seems as if the story of the haemorrhaging woman is an interruption of the story of Jairus’ daughter; however, there are indications that this story is linked to the other.   In fact, sometimes they appear like two sides of the same coin. We are told that Jairus, like the haemorrhaging woman, humbles himself by falling at Jesus feet. Jairus, the synagogue leader, begs Jesus repeatedly to come and save his daughter. These two people are from very different positions in Jewish society, but both interact with Jesus in exactly the same way. Jairus does this before the raising of his daughter, and the woman after she has been restored to health. The raising of Jairus’ daughter is the result of Jesus’ deliberate action surrounded by his disciples and the parents, and the woman initiates the healing through her own faith and belief in Jesus… Notice that the number twelve is important to both stories, as well. Twelve is the number of the tribes of Israel and it also signifies the union of people with God. The woman has been bleeding for twelve years and Jairus’ daughter, we are told, is twelve years old. Jairus’ daughter at the age of twelve is bat mitzvah, traditionally considered a daughter of the law. The woman is at the conclusion of her fertility and the girl is at the beginning of hers.

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus’ miracles are a sign of God’s power to embroider a rich tapestry of beauty and healing onto a world of injustice, pain and suffering.  He affirms the value of female lives. The haemorrhaging woman had been experiencing a form of death because her condition had excluded her from the community, and Jairus’ daughter experiences physical death. Both are restored to life through faith in Christ… Earlier, I proposed that we consider ourselves as the observers. When we take that point of view, we might be more inclined to look at girls and women in our own time… in our own families and communities,  in our country and in the world. We have seen in the media the oppression of girls and women in developing countries. Most recently we have witnessed how the Taliban in Afghanistan have used religion to attack the rights of girls and women to study and work, to live. And here at home in Canada, it might surprise you to learn that one woman or girl is killed every other day on average and once a week a woman is killed by her partner…  Are we like the crowds who press upon Jesus or laugh at him, or do we stand with Jairus, advocating even when to do so means humiliating ourselves? May we, like Christ, offer healing and hope to girls and women through awareness, understanding and through our actions.

John 14:6

In the Gospel of John, Jesus is both the Creator and the Created. He is like a performance artist who, throughout the Gospel, chisels away at our perception of God in order to reveal God.In revealing God, we see our true selves. Jesus as the Logos is the means of that encounter with the true self, made in the image of God.

Being human, by nature, is a creative state of existence. Creativity can lead us to God oraway from God. In an effort to determine who we are before God, we construct a framework of understanding. This framework is at once a perfectly human thing to do and a very dangerous enterprise. It is a danger to self and to the wider community, and has in the distant and recent past led to oppression and genocide. In the Scriptures, this framework takes the form of language, which actually has its origins in pictorial form. There is great beauty in words and images but also potential for misunderstanding. The prohibition against images and the exclusive use of language in Judaism, Islam and Protestantism did not and has not prevented schism and violence since even “language is never precise and always ambiguous.” This is what might be called a conundrum; in our efforts to approach God, we inadvertently distance ourselves from him. In the Gospel of John, Jesus’ identification with the Father is understood as idolatry when it is just the opposite of that. He is the pattern of what a relationship with God should be.

The language in this Gospel, which in the past has presented a narrow, sectarian view of Christian faith, is better understood in a postmodern context. Postmodernism validates the experience of the writer, the artist, or the viewer. Paradoxically, the subjectivity of postmodernism gives way to universal truth. For example, if we consider a group of people creating a sketch from a living subject, each artwork will be different. Each person sees and creates through the lens of his own experience and emotions, and there is validity in each interpretation. People can also differentiate between their own work and the living subject. The creation only functions as a reflection on the experience of the subject. No one would mistake the reflection for the real thing; however, with regard to God, this is exactly what humans often do. Jesus, in the Gospel of John, demonstrates that “there is no gap between the creation and the Creator” except of our own making. A postmodern reading of the Gospel of John rejects a misconceived objectivity in favour of an awareness of subjectivity.4 Jesus uses the words, way, truth, life and light as metaphors for himself. That self is the “I AM”, that is God. Through a postmodern approach to the Gospel of John, Jesus can be understood as the way, the truth, the life, and the light.

When Jesus speaks of the way, he is talking about recognizing God. The way is not a particular religion or ideology. Religion is only a method of worship but it is not definitive. Jesussays to the Samaritan woman at the well that “the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem.” (John 4:21) He could also have included Rome or Mecca in this list. To those who make a fetish of religion and feel that they have a monopoly on the truth, this is disturbing news; however, it is just as disturbing to those in contemporary times who sometimes feel adrift. Humans crave certainty; it is one of our serious flaws because it makes us needy. Jesus is throwing all of it into question, as if those who have been faithful will be left in uncertainty. It is important to note with whom he shares this information. Jesus, a Jewish male chooses to freely interact with a woman who is also an enemy. In the context of first century Palestine, this conversation should not be taking place at all. Jesus does not distinguish her from anyone else, because he “sees beyond gender and ethnicity.” For God such divisions do not exist because God sees beyond the superficial self. Jesus is the way that allows us to meet God face to face. The form that religion takes can never be mistaken for its function. That function can only be achieved through trust, just as the Israelites trusted God to lead them through the desert: “The Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light.” (Exodus 14:21) God was in the pillar but not the pillar itself. The way is walking by faith. Those who crave certainty also crave spiritual death and they make an idol of religion. A postmodern approach to understanding what Jesus means by the way, does not suggest that people should embrace Relativism. Humans need spiritual practices but “true religion is a means to an end, a vehicle for God-realization, not a path to institutional piety.”

Jesus refers to himself as the truth. This does not refer to creeds or dogma, nor is it about any historical fact. Jesus also uses the actual word as something outside of himself. He associates truth with “spirit” and “worship.” For example, Jesus states that “God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” (John 4:24) Truth in this context is a way that one approaches God. Worship is only possible when we recognize our true selves in God. In the same way, Jesus’ disciples must also accept the truth of Jesus’ origins in a way that goes beyond heredity. Jesus states that he has “come down from heaven,” to which his disciples respond “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?” (John 6:42) Jesus’ disciples derive a sense of stability and comfort from this enquiry. The truth of Jesus is something that goes beyond familial bonds and it extends beyond his Jewishness. At the same time, it is not a denial of his humanity. The truth, that is Jesus, is to be found in the “true self by grasping his life and death.”7 The life that we see in him is perfectly human. He is “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” to the point that he weeps in sympathy with Mary and the Jews who are mourning with her for Lazarus. (John 11:33-35) Jesus

knows what the outcome will be, thatLazarus will be raised from the dead. Jesus brings the very human, universal experience of physical suffering and death into the presence of God. When Jesus weeps, it is God weeping in communion with human kind. This is not a simulation of emotion no more than the crucifixion is a simulation of death. In the Gospel of John, Jesus’ crucifixion is the most critical place that God meets us face to face. Jesus says of his life “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my owaccord.” (John 10:17) God transcends any power that impinges on mortal life. Jesus chisels away at the power of death by his free acceptance of it.

Jesus says that he is the life. This declaration is perhaps the most revealing for some and difficult for others because God is the sole source of life. Jesus promises eternal life, which is “conscious awareness of God” in the present and “not life in the world to come.” 8 He refers to himself as the “bread of life.” (John 6:35) Bread was and still is a staple that is basic to human sustenance. (In some cultures, such as the Calabria region of Italy, the word for bread is used as a metaphor for someone who is virtuous.) Jesus is saying that the life that is “a manifestation of God” continually depends on God without interference or interpretation.9 It is not enough that “the breath of life” came from God at the beginning of the world.” (Genesis 2:7) By conflating “bread” and “life,” Jesus is saying that living with God is not extraordinary, and that it is essential to human existence. For Jews then as now, blood was prohibitive, “for the blood is the life” itself (Deut. 12:23) The removal of blood was required for meat to be kosher. In the Gospel of John, when Jesus states “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood you have no life in you,” he is not referring to the Eucharist. (John 6:53) This declaration is startling to his listeners on two counts: the consumption of any blood is prohibitive and cannibalism is considered a terrible evil. Jesus is speaking about an apocalyptic time that is referenced in the. Hebrew scriptures, but also is prescient of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E. (Deut. 28:53-57, Jer. 19:9, Lam. 2:20 and 4:10, Ezek. 5:10) As the gospel was written between 90 and 100 C.E., John is referencing a past event, but the horrors of the Roman invasion in the first century C.E. are echoed throughout Jewish history. The flesh that Jesus refers to is spirit since “it is the spirit that gives life. The flesh is useless.” (John 6:63) It seems like a contradiction, but Jesus, in the Gospel of John, is often misunderstood when he uses language metaphorically. People who turn to God for sustenance are less likely to feed on one another through exploitation and are less likely to succumb to xenophobia and tribalism.

Light is a theme that is introduced in the Prologue of John’s Gospel. It is often coupled with darkness, as “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”(John1:5) On the surface, the duality between light and dark, good and evil seems too extreme for a postmodern understanding. It seems to lack nuance and condemns those who are unwilling to see past their religious identity and ethnic origins. John says that Jesus “himself was not the light,but he came to testify to the light.” (John 1:8) This is consistent with the statement “I am the light of the world.” (John 9:5) Jesus, as the Son of God, testifies to the light, is the light and shares that light with humankind. (John 11:9) It is important to consider the nature of light when we analyse Jesus’ teaching. We cannot see light; we can only see what is illuminated. This illumination originates with God, but does not exclude humanity from sharing in his divinity.10 When people are in darkness, they are overshadowed by their own delusions, pretentions and misunderstandings. They are the architects of their own undoing. This is not God’s condemnation but a choice to remain in darkness, confident that the barriers that they have erected between themselves and God are justified. In John’s Gospel, those who are identified as the “Jews” are people who conspire against Jesus, but they are also the ones who “worship what [they] know for salvation comes from the Jews.”(John 4:22) In the past, the message about “salvation” was subverted by an anti-Semitic, literal interpretation of John. In a postmodern interpretation, the “Jews” in John’s Gospel stand in for all “those humans that cling to their pride in themselves, those humans who cannot accept that self-understanding presented in the revelation of God in Christ.” The Jews could not see God, in the same way that today Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, Sikhs, Agnostics or others may not see him when they choose to block the light, insisting that their version of God is actually God.

Jesus, in the Gospel of John, is a “disclosure of God” and not a veil.11 Viewed from a postmodern perspective, this gospel may be the most universal of all. Jesus, as both the Creatorand the Created is at once in the world and outside of it. He is a faithful Jew who frequently takes part in the religious life of Jerusalem. Conversely, he also goes about deliberately healing on the Sabbath and making “I am” statements, which infuriate the authorities. (John 5:5-18) Within his fully human existence, he challenges the wisdom and law of the day in order to bring people closer to God. Jesus performs signs and experiences glory in order to demonstrate through his life and death the timelessness of God. At the Resurrection, his response to Mary Magdalene is worthnoting. When he tells her “Do not hold onto me,” it is not simply a matter of protocol. (John 20:17) When we cling to our ideas about Jesus, we can easily delude ourselves into believing that the theology and religious practices are something other than the worship of God. This is when we cease to love and serve others in the ways that he taught us. This is also the place where we can easily be seduced into living lives of judgement and bigotry. Jesus, in the Gospel of John, rescues us from these pitfalls, by reminding us that there is nothing dividing us from God.

Bibliography

Griffith-Jones, Robin“The Un-Gospel of John,” Bible Review 18:1 (February 2002): 12-21, 46-7.

Accessed 3/18/2015.

http://members.bib-arch.org/publication.asp?PubID=BSBR&Volume=18&Issue=1&ArticleID=3 .

Kysar, Robert. The Maverick Gospel. 3rd Edition. London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2007.

Lewis, Scott. Lecture and Slide Presentations. Regis College, University of Toronto. January

21, 2019 and March 4, 2019.

Lonergan, Bernard. “Cognitional Structure” in Method in Theology. Vol. 14, Edited by Robert M.

Doran and John Dadosky. Toronto: Universityof Toronto Press, 1988.

Shapiro, Rami. “Listening to Jesus with an Ear for God,” Jesus Through Jewish eyes: Rabbis

and Scholars Engage an Ancient Brother in New Conversation. Edited by Beatrice

Bruteau. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2001.

Smith, D. Moody. “John-Historian or Theologian?” Bible Review.(October 2004): 22-31, 45,

Accessed 7/1/2012.

http://members.bib-arch.org/publication.asp?PubID=BSBR&Volume=20&Issue=5&ArticleID=7 .

Vashti

G-d does not exist…. in the book of Esther. 

Or at least the name of G-d does not appear anywhere in this Hebrew Scripture. So it has been debated whether the book of Esther is a story about Jewish nationalism, or conversely, a story of deep religious significance. In the Jewish tradition, the name of  G-d is so sacred that it is not spoken aloud, so the absence of the name could mean either extreme — secular or sacred. A famous Jewish scholar, by the name of Maimonides, believed that Esther was only second to the Torah in importance.  —-The Torah — the foundational sacred texts of Judaism — Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.  That is high praise, indeed, for a book that is so full of comedy, sex and violence.   Think of the book of Esther as Arrested Development meets The Sopranos, or if you’re from an older generation maybe it looks more like a fusion between Seinfeld  and The Godfather.  I think that we need to trust the wisdom of tradition and history when it comes to the book of Esther — we need to put on our party shoes and dance — we need to think “Purim!” “Purim” is the Jewish holiday which commemorates the saving of the Jews in the Persian Empire. It’s the only time that  the book of Esther is read in a synagogue.  Now, before you get the wrong idea — I’m not suggesting that we appropriate someone else’s holiday. I am saying that when we think about Esther, we should consider looking through the lens of “Purim.”  What mental adjustments are needed to think about this as triumph instead of threat or disaster?

Spoiler alert! The Jews survive!  And they don’t just survive, they thrive and take hold of power.  That is the lens of Purim — to look at all aspects of this story in terms of its ending.   Evil can’t win! Think about it as a comedy, and you begin to see the characters of the story for what they really are: you have King Ahasuerus as a narcissistic buffoon and his advisors as a cluster of sycophants pandering to his every whim.  Haman is the villain, Queen Esther and Mordecai are the heroes, and of course there are the eunuchs, the clever servants, who are so essential to the plot.   …And then there is Queen Vashti, who refuses to come when called — the woman who makes the wrong decision for all the right reasons. 

This is what we know so far:  King Ahasuerus, the ruler over the entire Persian empire holds a banquet for all the nobles and governors for one hundred and eighty days. And if that is not enough, he gives a second banquet for seven days for all the people who live in the palace in Shushan. Kind of like casual Fridays with alcohol.   Somehow Ahasuerus gets the bright idea, though there is some doubt about this, because the man doesn’t have another original thought for the rest of the story, to ask Queen Vashti to come to the banquet. She refuses and as Ahasuerus is more than happy to take any advice offered to him, his advisors suggest that Vashti should be banished from the king’s sight. The solution that they offer Ahasuerus is like killing an insect with a nuclear warhead !— an edict goes out that Vashti shall never come before the king.  This is a marital squabble that his advisors blow all out of proportion just to make Ahasuerus look ridiculous, which isn’t too difficult.  

Why does Vashti refuse to come when the king calls her? There is a lot of speculation about this….  

Consider that Vashti is having a banquet somewhere else in the palace, in seclusion where only women are allowed. Vashti is following the rules. It’s indecent for women who are nobility to attend male drinking parties.  When Ahasuerus makes the request, he is not just being inappropriate, he is putting himself at risk. We know that risk is real because no sooner is Vashti banished, then someone is plotting to kill him.  When he asks Vashti to come into the presence wearing “a royal diadem” it has been suggested that he means only the crown, coming before drunken men stark naked.— What is he thinking? Notice he speaks about himself in the third person when he issues the order “bring Queen Vashti before the king” as if he is parroting someone else’s words — someone else’s bright idea that he claims as his own. It’s not a stretch to see that his request is being fuelled by alcohol or enemies, or both. 

We never see Vashti. She remains out of sight. All messages are conveyed by the  king’s eunuchs. Not one eunuch, mind you or even two but seven in all! We know their names too, so they must be important to the story. All marching in unison to deliver the request and then marching back with the answer. Are they allies of Vashti?  Are they loyal to Ahasuerus? We never hear a word from Vashti herself but you can imagine that this is an impossible situation. It’s like being caught between a rock and a hard place. She has no option but to refuse to come before Ahasuerus and his drunken guests. So she makes the wrong decision for all the right reasons. It is a wrong decision because her disobedience results in her banishment — possible execution. No one with integrity will be there to influence Ahasuerus and protect the people of the Persian empire.  It’s also for all the right reasons because it is the only thing she can do to protect both her dignity and King Ahasuerus’ reputation. 

When we consider the long game, Vashti is making a decision that paves the way for Esther and Mordecai. But it does not end there. She is not simply a placeholder.  Later in the story, both Mordecai and Esther take their cue from Vashti to help them thwart the villain Haman.   Although it is never explicitly stated, the character of Mordecai, the one who will eventually provoke Haman, just happens to be at the second banquet at Shushan palace when Vashti refuses to appear. He watches the whole thing unfold.  Mordecai, just like Vashti, provokes rage through his own disobedience. He refuses to honour Haman. It’s almost like he’s playing him. As if he is deliberately drawing him out into the open so that the villain, Haman, can be seen for the anti-semite he really is.  Later Esther will also echo the experience of Vashti. She disobeys Ahasuerus too, and risks her life by coming to the inner court and “entering the king’s presence without having been summoned.” Of course when the king extends his “golden sceptre” she knows that she is in the clear.  He is such a narcissist and so easily manipulated, one wonders if there was any risk in the first place. Like Vashti, Esther holds a banquet of her own, actually two banquets —but not for women — for King Ahasuerus and for Haman, the villain.  Both the king and Haman easily agree to this, even though it’s so unconventional. Let’s face it, they can’t help themselves — One is led by his golden sceptre and the other by his naked ambition.  During the second meal, Esther reveals her identity as a Jew and what follows is a series of slapstick events with Ahasuerus coming in just as Haman falls all over Esther.  Ironically what Vashti feared might happen if she had obeyed the king, does appear to happen to Esther. Esther certainly doesn’t even try to contradict the king when he accuses Haman of molesting her.  

And where is G-d in all this?  The omnipresence of the Name can be seen in the palace hangings of “white cotton and blue wool, caught up by cords of fine linen and purple wool.” The blue and white is a visual metaphor for G-d’s commandments spoken about in the book of Numbers, and the purple is a sign of his royalty. These curtains are hanging when Vashti decides to refuse Ahasuerus. The presence is there too, when Esther, who is fasting, makes the decision to approach the king.   We see this same formula repeated later when Mordecai is dressed in “royal robes of blue and white,” with “ a mantle of fine linen and purple wool.”  In the world of Esther, G-d is always there but much like our own world, we may not be fully aware. We need to remind ourselves that the “relief and deliverance,” that Mordecai speaks about, is always close by. (Esther 4:14)

Sometimes when we choose to do what is just, what is right,  it might look like the wrong decision in terms of the way the world sees things. Vashti paid a price for her decision, but in the long term, her virtue was critical to saving the Jewish people.   Working for justice and peace can be anything but peaceful for some people.  Think of those who stood up to the Nazis in the Holocaust, like Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Franz Jaggerstatter.  It is a challenge to call out life-denying injustice even among our friends, family or co-workers— prophetic witness  is usually not welcome.  And when the world turns on us, we can’t help but question our choices.  

In those moments of doubt, we need to always hold fast to the belief that G-d will always triumph in the face of every evil and disaster. We shouldn’t be afraid to put on our party shoes and dance:

Dance us to  your beauty

With a burning violin

Dance us through the panic

Till we’re gathered safely in

Lift us like an olive branch

Be our homeward dove

Dance us to the end of love.

Dance us to the end of love. Amen.

Leonard Cohen.  Adapted from “Dance Me to the End of Love” in Stranger Music: Selected Poems and Songs, (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1993), 337.

Edward King, Bishop of Lincoln

March 8th — Today marks the commemoration of Edward King, bishop of Lincoln, in the Church of England,  who died on this day in 1910. I have had a lifelong fascination with saints from the time I was a child, but I can’t honestly say that I would want to meet some of them face to face. There is a joke among the Jesuits that there is no fear in death of the judgement of God — but meeting their founder, St. Ignatius Loyola is an entirely different matter. When it comes to Bishop Edward King, his saintliness was not reflected in the way he felt or thought, but in the way he lived. Everywhere I turned in my search for Edward King, something new was revealed so for me he became very human, very enfleshed. He loved dancing, fishing, swimming and horseback riding. How wonderful it would have been to be one of students at Cuddesdon College or Oxford. He believed wholeheartedly in commending both work and play to God. Edward was an average student, which may be one way that he was able to reach and inspire so many. His academic challenges and his pure enjoyment of living may have helped to cultivate in him a humility and a love for others. He prepared his students for the priesthood in the contemporary world by encouraging them to reach back to the past, to the early Church Fathers like Ambrose, Basil and Gregory the Great and to read the sermons of Augustine and Bernard. This was  important foundational work,  But nothing was as important as a life rooted in prayer, and a deep compassion for others.  He is described by  one writer as “the most loved man in Lincolnshire.” This wasn’t because of his long list of credentials or his teaching. He was loved because he practiced what he taught, reaching out to those who were on the margins, even comforting the condemned in prison and advocating for the voiceless of his day.
Bishop Edward King lived a simplicity that is reflected in the prayer offered by Jesus in Matthew’s gospel. Some  refer to it as the “Lord’s Prayer” and others call it “The Our Father” but regardless of what we choose to name it, Jesus is reframing what it means to be in relationship with God, what it looks like when people live in obedience to the two great commandments to love God and love one another. Notice that he prefaces this prayer by telling his listeners what prayer  doesn’t look like. This pattern actually runs throughout much of  Chapter 5 in Matthew’s gospel, “You have heard that it was said…” but you heard wrong, or somehow the teaching had been mishandled or distorted along the way. And in Chapter 6 he begins by telling  his followers what prayer does not look like. It isn’t about making a spectacle, “so that they may be seen by others.” It is about praying “to your Father who is in secret.” In the actual gospel passage that was read today Jesus counsels his listeners to avoid using many words, “as the Gentiles do” when they are praying.  Keep it simple. On the surface it almost seems that Jesus is saying that there is a danger in public worship and in liturgies.  What is it about private prayer and an economy of words that places us more authentically before God? Maybe the real clue lies in his advice about giving alms, “do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” The temptation is always present in us to look at ourselves in an effort to  curate our actions and our words, especially in relation to others, even when those actions and words are  directed to God.  Sometimes it springs from insecurity, and sometimes from a competitiveness but either way it can be toxic. 

In Jesus’ prayer the word “temptation” is sometimes used — “lead us not into temptation.” And in the New Revised Standard Version we read “do not bring us to the time of trial.” Many say, ‘well that can’t be right, God would not bring anyone to the time of trial.’ This is true that God would not bring anyone to ruin. God would not bring us to adultery, murder, stealing or any number of sins. Some other sin has to happen before any of these can be manifested in the human heart. The desire for God can morph quite easily into the desire for one’s own reflection. That fire that burns for God, without vigilance can consume us with the lust  for riches. Artists have a name for this in the world of graphic animation — it’s called an uncanny valley, somewhere that is not quite real and not quite synthetic. When a person finds themselves there, it is easy to fall prey to one’s own delusions of grandeur, even spiritual grandeur. Perhaps this uncanny valley is closer to the idea of a valley of the shadow of death because it is difficult to see the potential for danger. After all, how could attending Services, saying the Daily Office or helping the poor lead us into a time of trial? And yet, the psalmist reminds us of our dependence on God alone to be “saved from every trouble. ” Jesus tells us that one’s intention matter, what is in the heart matters. We need only look to the gospels collectively to see that Jesus considers spiritual transgressions the most egregious of all, and the source of so much injustice. 

That is what is so remarkable about Bishop Edward King. His generosity of spirit, we are told through the writings of those who knew him, was without guile and he was devoid of political acumen.  He was unattached to outward rituals, but was willing to conform to the religious practices of parishes that he visited. He was indifferent to form as long as prayer and the eucharist remained central to  the worship of God. In this case, that focus on God above all other things brought him to his own time of trial in the Church of England. He was tried in a church court for some traditional catholic practices that are quite common in the Anglican communion today. In the end Edward King was, thankfully vindicated, though this was not always the outcome for some in the past. The saints, the ones who put God first even before their own reputation, have found themselves humiliated, condemned and even destroyed in the court of human beings. And we have seen in these most recent days that the ones who put themselves first are more than happy to kiss religious icons and commit terrible crimes. 

May God grant us during this season of Lent the grace and strength to weather temptations and live in his love. Amen. 

The Anglican Theology of Richard Hooker & Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night

Richard Hooker’s theology, especially his recognition of Eternal Law, his concern for freedom of choice, his defence of liturgical forms and ceremonies and the concept of adiaphora, things indifferent, as expressed in The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, supported the distinctiveness of Anglicanism but also offered incidental support to the art form of drama as expressed on the Elizabethan stage. In the play, Twelfth Night, by William Shakespeare, the ideas that Hooker puts forth in defence of Anglican forms and traditions, and his opposition to Puritanism is evidenced in the dramatic aspects of the characters of Malvolio, Feste and the plot involving Viola/Cesario.

Anglicanism owes its unique character to the way in which the Protestant Reformation unfolded in England. Its theological development can be traced through its relationship to the arts.  The seeds of Reformation had already appeared in the middle ages, in people like the English scholastic, John Wycliffe, but it took developments in Rome to spark a revolt, beginning first on the continent. Many scholars point to the theology of the late middle ages as  a catalyst for the Reformation because the focus had switched from faith and reason to absolute power in the papacy. The Italian Renaissance may have also indirectly ushered in the Protestant Reformation due to corruption, as in the sale of indulgences as a means of paying for St. Peter’s in Rome.  It was the perfect storm of teachings on infallible authority and corrupt religious practises that made the Reformation inevitable. While Italy responded by embracing Humanism, demonstrated by the works of Michelangelo which celebrate the beauty of the human form, those in Northern Countries returned to the Scriptures. Statuary and paintings in churches came to be associated with the the corruption of Rome.  Most imagery in  Churches on the continent was destroyed or hidden in response to the Second Commandment “You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.” (Exodus 20:4). Iconoclasm occurred in England under Henry VIII and Edward VI, but efforts to rid the Church of “popery” were interrupted by Queen Mary’s  ascension to the throne. It was her attempt to abort the effort to reform the Church, by returning it to Roman Catholicism, that may have contributed significantly to the formation of the English Church as it came to be known in the time of Hooker and Shakespeare. Peter Marshall suggests that “the frequent shifts and turns in government religious policy in the sixteenth century must have confused and disoriented people,” not really knowing whether they were Catholics or Protestants or something in between. The reign of Elizabeth I was a period of stability in the Church, but its retention of the episcopal system, clergy, and cathedrals, not to mention a rich liturgical and musical tradition, made it seem as though the English Reformation was a “myth that did not really happen.” It was out  of this unique compromise between Catholic forms and Protestant faith that the English Renaissance emerged. While anthropomorphic religious imagery was still suppressed in the English Church, similar to the  Protestant churches on the continent, the traditions of music, drama and poetry were allowed to flourish.

Just as Richard Hooker endeavoured to delineate the purpose of Scripture as separate  from human reason, Elizabeth I moved to separate religious content from the theatre. She issued a proclamation in 1559 “against plays that featured matters of religion.”  The primary purpose behind the proclamation was likely to keep the peace, but this mandated separation also unintentionally initiated the start of professional theatre in England. The law concerning religious controversy may also have been the catalyst for Shakespeare’s preference of setting his plays in the Mediterranean, especially. Italy. There was safety from authorities by making the setting foreign. The gods of ancient Greece and Rome are often called upon in Shakespeare’s plays, another side-effect of avoiding religion on the stage. In The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, Hooker  draws on an example from ancient Greece in order to illustrate the intersection between Natural agents and Voluntary agents, deliberately reinforcing the Thomist influence in his formulation of Eternal Law. He viewed the creation of art as a human activity dependent upon the law of nature and therefore part of his understanding of Eternal Law. He states that “the same thing happens in nature as in art. If Phidias had unyielding and obstinate stone from which to carve, however great his skill may be, his work will lack beauty which it might have had if it had been more pliant.”When Hooker references Phidias, he is also honouring a tradition that ironically had its rebirth in the Italian Renaissance.  Although the ancient glory of Greece and Rome is often celebrated as the human achievement of a Classical age, Hooker views this as a path to humility before God. The law that comes naturally to the created world,  requires human beings to apply reason as they discover their own laws. Hooker saw a way to salvation that was not solely dependent on Scripture and did “not exclude philosophy, art, or science.” While he could, as a Churchman with authority, offer his rebuttal to the Puritans through formal discourse, Shakespeare as an artist, was required to find both nuanced and entertaining means to communicate views that were compatible with Hooker’s. 

Shakespeare’s art for the stage, while valued by the Elizabethans for its entertainment value, reinforced themes and ideas that were compatible with Hooker’s theology. Elizabeth Cohen, in her essay, “The Visible Solemnity: Ceremony and Order in Shakespeare,” focuses on the evidence presented in Shakespeare’s History plays, Richard II, and 1 Henry IV, 2 Henry IV and Henry V.  She points out that Samuel Johnson affirmed  that Shakespeare looked to Hooker for Ulysses’ statement on order in his play, Troilus and Cressida.  Cohen offers evidence that these plays have a political purpose, focusing on the role of the monarch. Although Hooker presents The Laws as a theological work, one can discern that a defence of the monarchy may be the subtext.  He does not appear to distinguish between the separatists and the Puritans in the Laws. He could clearly see that the threat to the liturgy, structure and ecclesiastical orders of the established Anglican Church would eventually lead to a threat to the monarchy itself.  Although this could be characterised as political, it is important to note that this was in defence of Elizabeth, anointed by God to reign. In his history plays, Shakespeare “dramatises the struggle between the law and the lawless, and he does so in large measure through the characters’ attitudes toward ritual and authority.”  Besides upholding the consecrated position held by the King, Shakespeare actively criticises the Puritans through the development of characters, such as Falstaff; however, this does not suggest that the character is as a stereotype any more than  Malvolio is in Twelfth Night, which will be discussed later. Both characters are presented as tragic figures solely because of Shakespeare’s skill and brilliance as a dramatist. Shakespeare makes them the object of the audience’s pity as a means of undermining their power and importance. It is an indirect strategy in contrast to Richard Hooker’s approach, who believed that the Puritans were an ambitious faction that posed a threat to the Monarch, the established Church, and human freedom in society.  Hooker’s problem with Puritans was that they were “turning insurrection into religion.” They were motivated by self gain, not religious conviction. The society that they envisioned for England was bleak, a theocracy devoid of decency, beauty or reason. 

The Puritans were hostile to the theatre. They objected to plays for the same reason they   objected to the liturgies in the Church of England, believing them to be “fraught with popish ceremonies.”   They thought that the theatre experience would remind people of Roman Catholicism, and that being reminded, they would easily succumb to ungodly living.  It is important to keep in mind that their first target during an earlier era in the Reformation, was the Mystery Plays which were amateur productions, developed locally in towns like York, Wakefield (Towneley) and Chester and were vestiges of the old religion. One would think that the Mystery Plays which depicted, for the most part, scenes from the Bible may have found some acceptance among Puritans, since they believed that the bible was altogether sufficient for salvation. However, it was not the content of the plays, but the delivery that was most objectionable. In modern times we think of plays first as literature, but this was not the case for the Mystery Plays or for the plays of the Elizabethan stage. Plays were performed often decades before they were ever published, so there was no literary component. Largely, it was the visual that the Puritans despised, as Anthony Munday warned, “There cometh much evil in at the ears,” “but more at the eyes; by these two open windows death breath into the soul.” Hooker, by contrast, identifies the eye “as the most active and receptive of all our senses, the organ by which to best make a deep and lasting impression.” There is no moral danger in looking because Hooker believed in the essential goodness of human beings, who through the use of reason, were capable of discernment. He directs this statement in support of the Anglican liturgies, ceremonies and vestments, but this also applies by extension to the theatre. Spectacle was an important component for the Mystery Plays, but as their productions waned during the Elizabethan era, the Puritans focused their attention on the burgeoning commercial theatre that was urban and more sophisticated. Their clamour for innovation was really a wish for a theocracy that restricted religious belief and cultural expression. Russell Fraser believed that these reformers reserved the “fiercest hatred for the drama,” but this antipathy “extended progressively to cover and interdict all forms of art as the impulse [grew] to apprehend the kernel of things.” Hooker would have identified this “kernel” as  “distinctive mode of human striving toward God.” He recognised that the Puritans were a threat, not only to Anglicanism and the Monarchy, but also to freedom and life. Their wholesale rejection of “right reason” as a means of exercising one’s conscious made them a dangerous cohort. Human beings by their very nature relied on “the light of reason so that they know truth from falsehood and good from evil.”  For all their efforts to “liberate” the English from the ceremonies and structures of the Roman Church and eliminate expressions of culture and art, the Puritans’ efforts were an attempt to enslave rather than free human beings.  

The Puritans had every reason to fear the theatre during the Elizabethan period, given the power of visual culture, ritual and acting. The Proclamation of 1559, which censored and restricted religious content in plays, forced dramatists like Shakespeare to find ways of expressing, in textual terms,  ideas about politics and religion in subliminal ways. Of course, the Puritans would have described their efforts as insidious. Restrictions on arts and culture has often  had a counter-intuitive effect, usually encouraging innovation and creativity, and the same could  also be said about religious expression. Perhaps it is an indication of the way that human beings, as voluntary agents who search for the good, continue to express themselves and look for meaning in their world. The destruction of images in the Reformation guaranteed that art would emerge in some other form in the Elizabethan era. The rise of the secular commercial theatre proved to be difficult to eradicate because it was not something that could be burned, smashed or destroyed like artworks or religious texts. It had popularity and economic clout, and had official approval, which  gave it some immunity from the Puritans’ wrath.  The strong ritual component of theatre meant that it was accused of being like the Catholic Mass. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that the Mass resembled the pre-Christian Classical dramatic forms of the Greco-Roman world.  For example,  William Shakespeare may have been a secular dramatist but he had a classical and religious education that influenced the theatre he created and inspired.  He was educated in English using the Book of Common Prayer, but he also understood Latin, the language of the Catholic Mass, as well as that of Virgil and Cicero.  England was a culture in transition, made more bearable because of the retention of “things indifferent,” which Hooker defends in The Laws, Book IV.  Ritual in the theatre experience and likewise, in the ceremony of the Church was “an enhanced level of consciousness, a memorable insight in to the nature of existence, a renewal of strength in the individual to face the world.” It was both cathartic and had a eucharistic or sacramental element to it. Since the experience required impersonation through acting, it was considered a deception by the Puritans and therefore by its very nature, it was deemed an immoral activity. The Puritans may not have fully understood the power of drama because if they had, they would not have attacked it simply on religious grounds. Human beings have always engaged in storytelling in order to understand themselves, their relationships and culture. The Elizabethan Theatre was a celebration and exploration of ideas where the “general and perpetual voice of mankind” could be heard.   The impact for audience members was emotional, mental but also spiritual.  From their writings, it seems that those who opposed both Catholic traditions retained by the Anglican Church as well as the theatre may have only understood things on a superficial level. They were preoccupied with appearances in the same way that their approach to biblical texts was literal.  If they had been able to look beyond “signs to causes,” in their own religious beliefs “at the root of the error,” they would not have been advocating for extreme reforms in the Church or the closing of theatres. Many of Shakespeare’s plays, including the history plays that have already discussed, have subtle theological, political and religious connotations. That cannot be said for his comedy, Twelfth Night, which directly challenged the Puritans and their ideology through character, dialogue and plot. 

Theatre has a sacramental aspect. The embodiment of language, more than any other element in the theatre, made the presentation of plays much closer in some respect to the Mass than the Anglican religious service, though this was not articulated by the Puritans. They approached scripture as literalists, and likewise viewed the Anglican Church and the theatre through a similar lens. They objected  to evidence of ‘popery’ such as the retention of ceremony and ecclesiastical orders. However, the reform of eucharistic theology meant that though the words of consecration were similar to the Roman Church, transubstantiation was not the consequence. It was not a sacrifice that was the work of the priest. Hooker confirms the belief of reformers when he states in the Laws that real presence of Christ’s body and blood is not  to be found “in the sacrament but  in the worthy receiver of the sacrament.”   Granted, there was no consecration happening in the Elizabethan theatre thanks to the Proclamation of 1559, but the words that were being spoken by the actor had more significance than simply a speech. They were the words of a playwright funnelled through an actor to further the dramatic action of the play. If we think about the actor as the element, then for the duration of a presentation before the audience, he becomes incarnate of that character. Paul Dean writes regarding Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night that the “idea of the actor embodying a role,” and the nature of  the Eucharist  serves as “a profound enquiry into the nature of being.” Central to the play is the notion of illusion and concealment where “nothing that is so, is so.”(IV.i.7). As close to Roman Catholicism and the belief in transubstantiation as that might seem, in theological terms, it is critical to keep in mind the importance of the reception of the audience in this exchange. That relationship between audience and actors, which is mutually dependent, actually brings the theatre experience closer to the theology of the Anglican Church.  

Twelfth Night is believed to have been written around 1601—1602 and was performed at the Feast of the Epiphany before Elizabeth I.  The power of comedy is deceptive, because on the surface it is entertaining, engaging an audience in laughter, but underneath serious issues and ideas are being explored and analysed.  It is not surprising to discover that many Puritan tracts were written condemning laughter and comedy.  As has already been discussed, theatre does not happen in a vacuum, but is dependent on the audience and actors for its existence . Then as now, drama had a theological and political dimension that either reasserted or undermined “the code of conduct of a given society.”  Shakespeare did not preach to his audience,  but they were certainly invited to think about what they were seeing, hearing and experiencing in the company of others. The collective nature of theatre made it an engaging and dynamic experience and therefore according to the Puritans, did not fulfil the functions of recreation. To begin with, the title of the play itself would have been an affront to the Puritans, since it marks a traditionally Catholic festival, the end of the Christmas Season. A festival, although a thing indifferent and therefore retained under the English crown, was a reminder of the Roman Catholic past. It is associated with carnival— “namely, emphasis on food, drink and sex, inversion of social roles, the taking time off work and the honouring of a saint.” Puritans would have felt equal amounts of disgust for economic as well as theological reasons. Festivals diverted people from their work, and instead encouraged “loitering and vain pastimes, and in refraining men from their handy labours and occupations.” Perhaps this attitude could also be explained by their own covetousness, since as Hooker pointed out, “they did not get the richest things and they often said as much.”  For example, Stephen Gosson, a former dramatist, who wrote The School of Abuse, may have criticised the theatre because of his own limited ability. When he produced plays, they were doctrinal and manipulative, conforming with his distrust of audience members to think of their own accord. Other historical evidence of tracts and activities suggest that the Puritans’ motivation for opposition to the things indifferent in both the Church and in culture may have had more to do with social and economic disadvantages than with religious conviction. 

In Twelfth Night,  Malvolio, who is identified as  “a kind of Puritan” is the most obvious challenge that Shakespeare offers in opposition to Puritans. (II.iv. 126) The name, Malvolio, like some others in the play, such as “Sir Andrew Aguecheek” and “Sir Toby Belch,” are a commentary on his character, “Mal” referring to evil or bad. He is branded in the play from the beginning as someone who is outside of this society.  Olivia, the aristocrat who employs him tells him that he is “sick of self-love” and “taste with a distempered appetite.” (I.v.82) He interrupts the festivities of Olivia’s uncle and his guest, and threatens to evict the uncle: “If you can separate yourself from your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house. ” (II.iii.88-89)  He patrols the morality of those under Olivia’s roof as though he owns the place himself. His misplaced ownership of Olivia’s household is easily taken advantage of when Maria, the housemaid, through the use of a letter, tricks him into believing that Olivia desires him. Shakespeare uses the character of Malvolio to ridicule the moral weakness of the Puritans. He is a character who has more belief in the Chance of finding a letter, than in God. (II.v.159) Not God but “Jove makes [him] thankful.” (III.iv.69) His attraction to Olivia “is not so much to her person as to her riches”  While there is discretion with most visual elements in Shakespeare’s plays, in Twelfth Night, Malvolio’s costume of “yellow stockings” being “cross-gartered,” is specifically mentioned in the dialogue. Elizabeth I, who enjoyed the debut of this play, “disliked the colour yellow because it appeared in the flag of Spain.”  As well, cross-gartering was apparently a fashion favoured at the beginning of the seventeenth century with “old men and Puritans.” Hooker addresses the Puritans and sometimes goes as far as dismissing them, “our opponents say that our conformity gives Rome occasion to blaspheme…This hardly deserves a response.” However Shakespeare chooses to elicit pity for Malvolio by holding him up for ridicule. By allowing other characters to victimise him, Shakespeare exposes the Puritan weakness for material gain and their lack of religious conviction. By making Malvolio an object of shame, he publicly emasculates their power. 

The character of Feste functions in Twelfth Night as much more than simply entertainment, even though he is identified as a clown. The name of the character, as in the case of Malvolio, relates directly to the title of the play itself. Feste is derived from “Festival” and therefore connected to the Feast days that were offensive to the Puritans. Feste is the only character who frequently speaks directly of God or his saints. For example, he mentions St. Anne when confronted by Malvolio’s threats (II.iii.106) He has a comedic catechetical debate with his employer, Olivia, for mourning a brother that she knows is in heaven. (I.v.56-64). Olivia is not praying or mourning of her brother’s soul in purgatory. Only heaven or hell are the options here, which makes this an Anglican discussion. As well, Feste routinely refers to both Olivia and the other servant, Maria, as “madonna,” whose name is also a reminder of a Catholic heritage. Shakespeare is reminding his audience that these things that are indifferent are part of the Anglican tradition. Similarly, Hooker reminds the English that the ceremonies taken from their predecessors “are ancient rites and customs of the Church of Christ” that are not exclusively Roman but belong to them too. Feste’s impersonation of Sir Topas, the curate, comes dangerously close to breaching the Royal Proclamation against religious content.This deception is usually played for comic effect, which contrasts with the weight of Feste’s counsel for Malvolio: “I say that there is no darkness but ignorance.” (IV.ii.39-40) Feste catechises Malvolio as he did Olivia earlier in the play. The character of Viola/Cesario observes that Feste “is wise enough to play the fool.”(III.1.57)  In the tradition of the last day of Christmas,  which was about reversals and illusions, the character of Feste only appears to be an entertainer, in the same way that theatre appears to amuse. Viola truly sees his facade, largely because of her own. 

The plot that involves a love triangle between Viola, Olivia and Duke Orsino would have been highly offensive to Puritan sensibilities. In the drama, Viola, who is twin to her brother, Sebastian, conceals her gender and identity.   The Puritans thought that plays by their very nature promoted “hypocrisy and deceit,” “luring people into thinking a man is someone else.” It becomes even more complicated on the Elizabethan stage since women were not allowed to act; the role of Cesario required a young male to play a woman who in turn plays a man. The convention of males wearing female attire was also unacceptable to Puritans  because of “the Biblical injunction against men putting on women’s clothing.” Both Viola and her twin brother, Sebastian are saved from the storm that takes place before Twelfth Night unfolds. In the opinion of Maurice Hunt “along with the salt waves and tempests, the Anglican God as defined by Hooker, realises his Providence through the agency of time, which Viola chiefly trusts to work her happiness.” Viola’s happiness is fulfilled at the end when she reveals her true identity.  In the play, the Duke has really fallen in love with Cesario. His attraction to Cesario is seamlessly transferred to Viola in Act V, when he discovers the deception. Perhaps Duke Orsino’s pansexuality could be interpreted as Shakespeare’s provocative response to Puritan hysteria over the “inducement to sodomy” on the Elizabethan stage. 

Richard Hooker’s teaching of Eternal Law offered Elizabethans an expansive view of humankind within the natural world of God, in contrast to the Puritan’s restrictive and warped view that would use Scripture to limit human freedom. Hooker’s doctrine of adiaphora went beyond a defence of Anglican ceremonies and ecclesiastical polity, “recognising that its denial erodes not merely institutional liberty, but individual liberty as well.” The Puritan’s disdain for ritual and ceremony retained in the Anglican Church after the Reformation, extended to the next nearest target which was the theatre. In spite of their best efforts to weaken the Church and eliminate the arts, the natural human need for beauty, as a thing indifferent, continued to enrich the practice of faith in the Anglican Church, and engender freedom of expression in the theatre.