Will Duffy | RSA Workshop | June 2009 | Position Paper

What is the religious? What is the sacred?

There are no ordinary people…

C.S Lewis

In the 1991 film Black Robe, there is a particularly poignant scene in which the character of Father Laforgue, a Jesuit priest in 17th century New France (what is now Quebec), desperately confronts his mortally wounded Algonquin guide, Chief Chomina, and pleads that the latter accept baptism. Trying his best to offer comfort, Father Laforgue tells Chomina about the wonderful life Christ offers in heaven and asks him if this is not something he wants. Chomina’s answer is simple and unequivocal: why would he want to go to Father Laforgue’s heaven? His people aren’t there; neither is his wife, nor his son. So why would he leave the ones he loves most in the world to go to a heaven populated by, as Chomina says, “black robes”?

The irony at work in this conversation between Father Laforgue and Chomina—how a passionate priest dedicated to serving his god fails to recognize the sacrificial love displayed by the “savage” nonbeliever—is a wonderful testimony to how easily religion can render the sacred invisible when what is considered holy becomes something to be defended by creeds and sustained through ritual. Indeed, this is an irony most of us today don’t have to search long and hard to find. It is ubiquitous: in the fiery sermons of Pentecostal preachers, the relaxed alter-calls in trendy youth ministries, the vacuous debates between apologists and atheists on Ivy League campuses, the infinite self-help books that promise everything from weight loss to direct-from-heaven material blessings if you only harness the energy of your true potential, live your “best life now,” or keep uttering Jabez’s prayer. It’s even manifested in all of the subtle little racisms and sexisms and rejections of difference among our friends and families and in our private thoughts.

The irony is telling; it is its own testimony—

The more we tenaciously commit to a god, or creed, or movement, or even just an idea, all the more easier is it for us to betray our common humanity—a humanity that seems to demand that there indeed be commons: places and spaces in which to share, resource, dialogue, and celebrate. At the end of the day this has everything to do with what is religious and what is sacred, a distinction that most of us, most of the time, aren’t capable of making unless we yield some discursive space and let others have a say.

The terms “religious” and “sacred” are words to which I have no commitment. The former we can use to describe anything and everything around which we form habits of living, whereas the latter speaks to that in which we find ultimate value, but as terms I’m afraid they have very little meaning on a wide cultural scale. I nevertheless have much interest in talking about the “sacred” because here is where we locate those things worthy of our worship; or to use some other terms, worthy of our time, thought, belief, and obeisance.

I believe there is something very humane about the sacred, something that warrants us to look for the sacred in each other, but I’m not sure what else more to say about this term, especially by way of definition. Perhaps this is because the act of definition often has a negative effect on the sacred, rendering it easier to possess and thus less sacred.

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I have yet to discuss how I see the sacred manifesting in discourse, and perhaps this is because I don’t think the sacred can be manifested in any other way except through discourse of some kind. Which is to say, even in our most private moments we cannot escape the need for and reality of connections to other people, and it is through discourse that we come to understand not only what is sacred but also what it means to call something sacred in the first place.

With that said, I will briefly introduce the texts I am forwarding for potential discussion. They are, 1) A public letter written by the president of Young Life (a non-denomination, evangelical outreach ministry) and 2) the document this letter is about (a “proclamation” paper that lists certain “non-negotiable” beliefs to which staff must submit). There was a brief national discussion about this document (and the controversy that sparked its production) in a handful of periodicals, including Christianity Today. In short, and as remarkable as it might sound for some us at the workshop, a small group of Young Life staff basically decided they wanted to stop telling their students they were going to hell if they didn’t believe in a certain way. The results were that these local chapters surged with participation, but as the numbers grew so did the publicity, eventually provoking the national leadership to draft this document and require all staff to sign it. When this small group of staff members refused, they were fired and their thriving chapters atrophied: all of volunteer leaders resigning, in addition to the areas’ committees (chief fundraisors).

What I find most fascinating about this event—and these documents—is how closely the “official” beliefs espoused by Young Life are linked to a certain way of naming these beliefs. That is, to believe correctly is to speak about your belief correctly; or rather, right belief is marked by one’s ability to speak rightly about that belief. But this is hardly a new phenomenon in the history of religious debate. Indeed, this might perhaps be the oldest one: the fight over how to say the right things in the right ways. When it comes to discussion of the sacred, here is one example that might lead us to consider the different ways this problem of proclamation persists into the 21^st century.