Several years ago, I enjoyed watching the documentary about the philosopher Jacques Derrida. Having wise people, of whatever academic or social class, talk on camera, seems to me the ground — subject to the creativity of the director — for memorable film viewing, if not memorable film.

So I recently came across this outtake from the documentary, in which Derrida talks about how his fears regarding writing show up. This has a particular and even poignant relevance for theologians, who in a “religious” country like the United States bear a particular burden for telling what should count as the truth about Christianity. And, I might add, it has a particular relevance for Catholic theologians, given the frequent attempted governance of academic theological identity that has too many Catholic theologians “dying young,” as I wrote in an earlier post.

I think that no Catholic theologian doesn’t have this thought. But I also think that no Catholic theologian should unnecessarily avoid having this thought.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, United States

Just catching up on some items of interest while I’ve been away for the past month, and I could not pass up mentioning this interesting story reported by Scott Sayare in the New York Times a few weeks ago. Subject: The “Madonna of the Bikers” festival in Porcaro, France. Something on the order of ten thousand came to have their motorcycles blessed at this annual event. Sayare highlights the fascinating crossover of “sacred” and “profane” that the “pilgrimage” represents.

Here is a video of the blessing of the bikes this year that I found on YouTube. (Sorry, no credit is given for whomever filmed it — but thank you.)

My first thought was of the medieval European feasts, described well recently in Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age, in which cultural permission is given for a specified amount of time for the normal social-religious rules to be inverted. (This is also the association that Rev. Rachel Mann recently made to metal concerts.) This came to mind due to the display of socially transgressive behavior in the midst of a routinized religious space. (Although one difference from the medieval feasts would be the seeming lack of explicitly irreligious or antireligious sending up.) As Sayare reports, “Many came to pray, many to carouse, a surprising number to do both.”

As an event at which two open-air masses are held, and holy water is sprinkled on rumbling Harleys on a weekend featuring the musical sensibilities of AC/DC and a tendency toward body modification and robust partying, Sayare also links to this French bishops’ conference report about the festival, which is a tantalizing indication of its recognition by Catholic officialdom.

The presiding (and self-described) “biker-priest,” Jean-Francois Audrain, is quoted as saying something quite subtle: “No one should leave here without having gotten what he really wanted out of it.” I take such a statement as at once a pastorally wise spaciousness about the multiple motivations for attending such an event, and at the same time a theological claim about worthy desires presenting themselves precisely in those multiple motivations, desires known or unknown to the bikers themselves, but not separate from what the bikers really want. It reminds me of the important motif in Ignatius Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, regarding the courage to ask God for what one desires. According to some interpretations of this aspect of the Exercises, what one “really wants” spiritually is precisely what should leave one unsatisfied until one has experienced “having gotten” it. I think that in this story there are analogies to rock scenes and their theological investigation.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

A friend sent me this provocative article from the Telegraph (United Kingdom), about an Anglican priest who is recommending that Christians consider what metal music has to offer spiritually. The Rev. Rachel Mann has some interesting things to say in this story. Unfortunately, in this kind of a venue, it’s going to be difficult for them to get a fair hearing. Why? Because the bent toward the expirational and the momentary on the web, and especially on news sites, and more especially when reporting on such an unusual convergence as the “secular” world of metal and the “sacred” world of the church, is nearly overdetermined to give itself for consideration with a less-than-sober patina.

Yet despite the discursive tilt toward reading this as something of a “lifestyle” piece, or simply as further evidence of the decline of the Church of England and its clergy, it sounds like Rev. Mann has got some deeper ideas at work.

She speaks of a “liberative theology of darkness” in metal, and the value of confronting nihilism, as well as “death, violence, and destruction.” This very thematic is part of what makes the metal scene, she says, so accepting of others. This is not cheap stuff being put forward. Paul Tillich, among other modern theologians, famously urged theology to take seriously the destructive and disturbing as rendered in art, testifying to the complex depths of human alienation and searching, which (as I read him, especially in the works on theology and culture) are propaedeutic for any meaningful theological talk of salvation or healing in modernity. Marcella Althaus-Reid argued that the desire to fence off “obscenities” from being given theological attention was the effect of a more truly obscene theology, one that wanted people to divide their lives up into acceptable and shameful behaviors before they could take their own spiritual inventories of their own “queerness.” Rev. Mann seems to be moving theologically in these waters.

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While I often criticize the Catholic Church, particularly its teaching on women and on sexual ethics, there are many things I love about it, especially its rich social justice tradition. When I wrote my book on health care reform I spent a lot of time researching Catholic justice theory and then applying it as a critique of the use of market mechanisms in the funding and distribution of health care in the US.

When human rights theory first emerged amid the French Revolution and the Enlightenment, the Catholic Church viewed it with suspicion. Seen as promoting secular notions of individual freedom and self-interest, the Church resisted human rights language/concepts until the papacy of Leo XIII (1878-1903). Eventually, the Church came to embrace human rights language. One of my favorite papal encyclicals is Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth). Written in 1963 by Pope John XXIII, Pacem was influenced by the UN’s Declaration of Human Rights issued in 1948. The encyclical contains a list of human rights considered to be the most complete and systematic found in the modern Catholic tradition and include: religious rights; economic rights; political rights; and the right to food, clothing, shelter and health care (nos. 11-27). Pacem defines human dignity in terms of these rights by arguing that human dignity is fully interrelated with all political, social and economic structures of society. Hence, governments and institutions must assure that these structures are organized in such a way that they promote and protect human rights.

One of the more interesting rights mentioned in Pacem is found under the section titled “Rights Pertaining to Moral and Cultural Values.” Here, paragraph 12 states that everyone “has the right to respect for his person, to his good reputation; the right to freedom in searching for truth and in expressing and communicating his opinions, and in pursuit of art, within the limits laid down by the moral order and the common good.” I’ve never done any research on the history or connotation of this paragraph. Obviously the phrase “within the limits laid down by the moral order and the common good” places some restrictions on artistic expression and is open to interpretation. Nonetheless, the fact that the pursuit of art is recognized as a right at all is quite progressive for an institution that often drowns in a sea of reactionary views.

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Here’s a link to a story in the Washington Post about bagpiper Bill Millin, aka “The Mad Piper,” who died last week. His story is quite remarkable and showcases music’s powerful ability to unite, inspire and comfort.

Below is a video of a group called the Red Hot Chilli Pipers who describe themselves as “bagpipers who rock.” They performed last Friday at the Milwaukee Irish Festival. According to people who attended the concert, they dedicated this song to the memory of Bill Millin.

Mary McDonough

Catholics are big on pilgrimages. They love to take trips to holy destinations— birthplaces of saints, sites where apparitions of the Virgin Mary have occurred or churches housing religious relics. I have several friends who have gone on pilgrimages to places like Assisi, Italy; Lourdes, France; and even, Medjugorje in Bosnia-Herzegovina. All of them cherished their journeys. People seem to go on pilgrimages for a variety of reasons. Many to deepen their faith. Others for spiritual or physical healing. Some to educate themselves about history, religion and culture. Although I’ve never gone on an official pilgrimage I have been on monastic retreats, toured the California Spanish missions and visited numerous churches around the world.

Perhaps it’s my Catholic upbringing but I’ve always associated pilgrimages with religion. Until a few days ago. That’s when I heard about “Elvis Week.” This past August 16th was the 33rd anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. While I appreciate the contribution Elvis made to music, I’ve never understood the fervor surrounding his legacy. Regardless, for the past 29 years thousands of people have gathered in Memphis during the anniversary of his death for what is called “Elvis Week.” This year 40,000 people attended and participated in an array of activities including tours of Graceland, panel discussions on Elvis’s contribution to American music and culture, an Elvis impersonator contest (no, I’m not making this up) and, on the final evening, a vigil just outside the gates of Graceland where 20,000 fans stood in 100 degree heat holding candles.

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Lollapalooza, the music festival held annually in Chicago, was created in 1991 by Jane’s Addiction singer Perry Farrell as a farewell tour for his band. Since then the festival has focused on a diverse range of music from heavy metal to alternative to hip hop. This year household names like Lady Gaga and Green Day made appearances. What’s interesting, though, is that according to most reviews, native Chicagoan Mavis Staples gave one of the festival’s finest performances. Why is this surprising? Well, for one thing Staples just turned 71 years old. Then there’s the fact that she’s a gospel singer. Yes, gospel. Apparently Lady Gaga, Green Day, Arcade Fire, MGMT, the Black Keys and, ironically, a band called The New Pornographers, were all outshone by a gospel singer.

As a 12 year-old Staples was the lead singer of the Staples Singers, an influential band led by her father. During the ‘60s, they became voices for the Civil Rights movement. In 1999, they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Another interesting part of the story is that Staples has spent the last year and a half working with Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy. He produced her new CD, You Are Not Alone, and also wrote the title track which is about keeping one’s faith.

When asked by a reporter about how she felt about playing Lollapalooza, Staples quoted her father who always reminded her that: “You’re singing God’s music. You be sincere. What comes from the heart reaches the heart.” Never straying far from her spiritual roots, even when she sings music that isn’t literally gospel, Staples still sounds as if she’s testifying directly to you.

Mary McDonough

Rock and Theology will keep on rocking and theologizing as other contributors will continue posting over the next month, but I will be away, and will look forward to re-joining the blog come September. Thank you to all our readers for sticking with us, reading, and commenting on the blog and over email.

For the moment, here is one of my favorite videos and songs from the R&T year so far, Sevendust’s “Licking Cream.” (I posted about it in February.)

Back in a month–

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, United States

Following on from part one of this topic…

In terms of my induction to practical theology, then, as time went by in graduate school, I understood the pastoral theological works I had been reading (whether liturgy, pastoral care and counseling, religious education, spiritual direction, and other theologies of church practice) as attempts at managing faith identity through the production and maintenance of Catholic knowledge and the governance of subjectivity—however “traditional” or “progressive.”

The more I “got” this perspective, the more I intensified my immersion in Foucault studies, due among other things to their rich complexities of debate about cultural practices there. That turn let onto an ongoing overhearing of contemporary continental philosophy in my work. I see philosophies of practice and cultural studies of practice as essential traveling companions for the practical theologian. Since then, my pursuit of the theory and practice of everyday life, my continued activity in “secular” rock music, and my sense for theology as a psychagogic-political activity for the theologian, her students, and further audiences well beyond original imagining, position me to both engage the history and present of practical theology, and to attempt to show its interventionist and illuminative significance with respect to the small stable of questions with which I deal at the “intersection” of theology and culture.

Joining these foci to the diverse concerns internationally for practice in practical theology, and especially the emerging interest in cultural in addition to ecclesial practices for theology, and the slow but (I hope) sure turning to cultural theories and practices in practical theology, has helped me see the power that a practical-theological orientation might have.

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There are many disciplinary perspectives from which one can study theology and culture, an intersection that has never, for me, been less than a reckless passion. My own way theologically into this nexus, and thus to the study of rock and theology, has been with the assistance of a domain called “practical theology.” This field is often distinguished from systematic theology, moral theology, historical theology, and fundamental theology (not to mention many other ways of marking up the map of theological studies). Practical theology takes practice as its key conceptual focus, and practices of interest to theology (whether in “religious” or “secular” contexts) as its key reference point — whether as a starting point or as a conclusion to theological argument. Practical theology is not well known in Catholic contexts in the United States, though it is better known in Catholic theological circles elsewhere, for example Canada and Europe. The term “practical theology” was made most effective and critically robust for modern theology by the 18th-19th century Protestant theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher, and ever since has been more common in Protestant seminaries and Protestant theological encyclopedias.  Given its rarity in Catholic circles in the United States, I am sometimes asked how I came to learn of it and find it useful. Here is part 1 of my brief account of how.

I was introduced to practical theology through Professor Thomas Groome during my doctoral studies at Boston College in the late 1990s. I had never heard of practical theology during two years of master’s work at Harvard Divinity School, and sometime within my first year of doctoral studies, Professor Groome mentioned the International Academy of Practical Theology and the contours of the discipline while we were talking about my interests in faith and culture, and how to situate those within disciplinary nomenclatures and intellectual alliances/interlocutors. From time to time, he would give me articles by practical theologians, many of them from the International Journal of Practical Theology, particularly because they crossed my own interests in philosophies of practice, continental philosophy, or popular culture studies, as ways of thinking with and for theology in practice. This took place while the content of discussions at the Institute of Religious Education and Pastoral Ministry (now part of the School of Theology and Ministry), where I was located, was still heavily tilted toward religious education.

As these introductions to the discipline were happening, several zones of exploration and personal history were coming together in the late 1990s and early 00s that further helped me feel a productive and promising caughtness in that ambiguous, open-ended, and unruly set of overlapping domains called practical theology:

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