The Authentic Christianity of Dolly Parton

 

It feels weird to speak of a world without Dolly in it.  I grew up on her music, her variety show, and in the shadow of her influence on our culture, particularly here in the South. To call her an icon is to understate the case.

It feels a bit weirder to talk about her "authenticity."  Put mildly, Dolly had some aesthetic work done.  The photo to the left shows only a part of that work over the years.  Dolly dressed garishly, on purpose, wore a lot of makeup, had big hair and big ..... other things.

But the biggest part of her was her personality, and beneath the fake hair, complexion, nails, and ...... other things...... I doubt anyone ever encountered a more real person.

A friend of mine commented yesterday, quoting someone from Twitter, "she was the real that people in this country strive to be."

Her faith is well known.  Dolly played up the "spiritual but not religious" aspects, but one listen to her catalog begins to reveal some deep roots in Southern Christianity.  The realest part of her was her faith.  In a 2019 interview, she said "I always felt responsible to God that I was supposed to be doing something for God. I still feel like that, and I'm still doing it, trying to. Sinning all the way, but trying my best, and asking forgiveness seventy times seven."  She lived her faith, out loud, unapologetic, and real, just like her. Christianity wasn't something she believed.  It was a life she lived.

Our Lord teaches us, "you will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Therefore by their fruits you will know them."  The list of Dolly Parton's charity efforts is far too long to recite here, and is mostly well known, though Dolly only spoke of them herself to help further the charities.  From paying schoolchildren if they graduated high school (reducing the dropout rate in her hometown from over 30% to around 6% in the process), to giving away free books, to helping victims of fires or funding COVID vaccines, she tried to give away substantial portions of her fortune, estimated at over $450 million.  She likely will continue funding charity long after her death yesterday. Money neither saves nor condemns, but what you do with it matters. But it was never just the money -- Dolly spent time in her communities, pushed up people, and was a guiding light for goodness, mercy and charity in this world.

But that is not all.  She was married to her husband for 59 years until death parted them last year. "Jolene" is a testament to her love for her husband and appreciation for the sanctity of marriage, and yet still manages to give the auburn-haired, emerald-eyed foil a measure of grace.  Every community, every group, every clique in the world seems to love her.  It's not because she caved into every demand of special interest groups.  It's because she loved every human person, unconditionally, and without apology.  She purposely avoided taking political sides, even at times when such was demanded of public figures.  She would not stoop to degrade anyone. She always radiated love for her fellow man.  It was this love, in part, that pushed her to eschew divisive rhetoric and public posturing:

"I ain't that good a Christian to think that I am so good that I can judge people. That's God's job, not mine. So as far as politics, I hate politics. Hate politics."

Hating politics, but loving people and refusing to judge them?  It's hard to conceive of a better example for modern Christians to emulate.  

She wasn't perfect, of course.  She would be the first to tell you that. But in a world of Kardashians (all of whom Dolly surely loved too), I hope we can all agree we should try harder to be like Dolly.

The Problem of So-Called "Liberal" Theology

I say "so-called 'liberal' theology" not because it's a poor descriptor, but because I think most people tend to equate the word "liberal" with a host of secular political opinions that may or may not be accurate (for example, we can distinguish between "leftist," "Marxist," and "liberal," not to mention the rise of the use of the term "classical liberal" to define what we now usually call "conservatives").

In any event, this isn't a post about politics, and it is certainly not about secular politics. It's about essentially three competing approaches to theology: innovationist (liberal), traditional (what most people would call "conservative" in a positive sense), and rigorist (what most people would call "conservative" or "fundamentalist" in a pejorative sense).

I'm a traditionalist.  I've written a fair amount in recent years about the dangers of rigorist theology and the legalistic boxes it tends to put us in.  But I'm in a discussion now involving an atheist/former Lutheran, some liberal Lutheran theologians, and some more traditional Lutheran theologians. In that discussion, the basic problem of "liberal theology" sort of jumped off the page.

I won't recount specific here.  The discussion isn't private so much as the participants likely do not expect to have their words broadcast outside that conversation.  I want to respect that for all involved.  So without getting into the details of the discussion, what jumps out is this: Liberal theologians tend to approach the Scriptures, the Church, even the miracles of Christ, with skepticism.  That is, if secular science, culture, politics -- whatever -- enters into the picture, it usually is expected to act as a trump card for whatever Christians have believed for millennia now.

I had a professor in the Antiochian House of Studies whose teachings may illustrate this.  He, too, will remain nameless.  But his basic view was that the Apostle John Mark of the Seventy wrote most of the New Testament.  I don't recall off the top of my head whether he was claiming John Mark wrote down what the Twelve were teaching, or whether he was a disciple of someone.  That's mostly because I didn't buy the argument to begin with.  In my paper for the class "Scripture II: New Testament," I wrote the following:

Contrary to the view put forth in our text, this student has always considered John the Apostle to be the author of both the Gospel of John and of Revelation . . . I will avoid a lengthy discursus on this point beyond this paragraph and defer to the assigned text and my esteemed professor throughout this paper that John Mark is the author of Revelation.  I would like to note, however, that one reason I hold this view is John’s portrayal in our iconography and the tradition behind the icon.  John the Theologian is my Patron Saint.  The icon I have of him in my home is of St. John dictating Revelation to St. Prochorus. 

Granted, I wrote these words, so I obviously believe them and stand by them.  The point is, this strikes me as a pretty on-the-nose objection to "liberal theology."  Liberal theology defers to modernity and innovation.  "New ideas" must transplant the old.  Proper theology defers to tradition.  Not blindly, and not as a "religion of dead men," but properly.  Using this example, there is no reason beyond pure academic skepticism and innovation to think anyone but St. John wrote Revelation (and the Gospel of John, and the Epistles of John).  To the extent literary criticism and so forth might call into question the authorship, the Church usually has answers.  For example, modern scholarship often notes that St. John likely would not be a very good writer because of his background. The Church answers, "there is no such concern about St. Prochorus, and the Church has always said St. John dictated the texts anyway, or at least some of them, so why would we choose another author when we know from history how these writings were made?"

It is so with nearly any issue where it is contended the view of the Church through the centuries has been "proven" wrong by modern scholarship.  It is assumed that the assertion and argument is "proof," but the tradition of the Church is simply man-made, utterly fallible, and therefore may be discarded. Not for nothing, archaeology has "proven" many of the things that scholars believed were "myths" to be historical facts. For that reason alone, naked skepticism ought to be tempered with some respect for those who went before us.

As a former Lutheran, we were not taught to believe the Bible was a plaything that could be read apart from the witness of the historical Church. The Lutheran Confessions make that clear, and while I believe the Lutheran Church broke with Holy Tradition on numerous points (including the relative authority of Holy Tradition), there was still a lot of solid ground to stand on in terms of the Patristic witness set forth in those Confessions. Some Lutherans today do not maintain this, and feel free to depart from the Tradition of the Church on certain points (the ever-virginity of Mary, the intercession of the departed saints, etc.).  Not all of them are liberals.  The Radical Reformation, however, is where the wheels truly came off.  If anyone can read the Bible and their interpretation of what it says is more authoritative than the Church and her Saints, then truly anything goes.  This has spawned both fundamentalism and wide-open innovationism, depending on how one runs things. Certainly Lutherans, like Orthodox, have people in both camps.  But theology doesn't operate that way, so those camps ought to be confronted rather than embraced.

In and of itself, some level of skepticism is not unhealthy.  There are cultural practices in the Church that are not dogmatic, what our Greek brethren often call "Yiayia theology," though they exist in the Arabic and Slavic Churches and others as well.  Cultural practices are not dogma, as I wrote here. But where the Church speaks -- in her iconography, in her teaching and in her liturgy and offices -- we are not free to simply discard what she says. As I put it in the discussion I mention above, "you're not going to find a direct parallel to what is a novel interpretation of (the Bible). The Fathers were perceptive, but we can forgive them for not knowing some 20th century smart boys would try to upend what the Bible says." 

The basic problem, thus, is not whether we wish to be kind and loving to people.  I am convinced and believe that liberal theologians believe they are simply being kind and loving.  They take "God is love" as an overriding theological principle that undoes words of condemnation and correction.  As if loving parents are always considered "nice" by their kids, when in fact loving parents correct, discipline, and teach.  Tossing aside the correction, discipline, and education is to toss aside love itself.

No, the real issue is, do we wish to be faithful.  In Orthodox theology, God has given us a life to live.  As I've written many times before, God loves us and wants us to be whole, and so He gives us the opportunity to unite to Him and enter into His life, which is Life itself.  Walking with Him is not mean, even when others do not wish to walk with him.  We ought not go around berating others for their sins, as if we do not have a log in our own eye.  We also cannot whitewash the teaching of the Church to avoid hurting feelings.  Liberal theology too often lands in subjective feelings. As the image I chose above implies, liberal theology doesn't want to offend anyone or hurt feelings.

Of course, the problem with this is nobody wants to offend anyone or hurt feelings, but we cannot sacrifice truth for feelings.  We should say everything in the kindest way, and we should avoid causing unnecessary offense.  But a truth claim about Christianity cannot be reduced to myth or fabrication simply because it offends someone.  Someone will always be offended by anything we do or say.  The ever-reductionist intersectional claims of the secular left demonstrate that well enough. We, as Christians, are to give grace where we take offense, and we are to act gracefully to avoid giving offense, but that does not eradicate the truth of our faith. And the main issue I have seen over and over with liberal theology is when offense is taken, no effort is made to see if that offense is reasonable or feigned.  Rather, the skepticism I described above is employed to answer the question: "can we get by without saying this thing that someone, rightly or wrongly, took offense to?"  It's almost uncanny how often the answer is "yes."

The Christian faith is neither conservative nor liberal.  It is neither innovationist nor rigorist.  Secular politics has no place in the Church of Christ, nor do naked secular worldviews.  Scholarship is helpful when it is employed to help us understand things. Not all scholarship fits that mold, and while it might be acceptable in the academy to find "fresh, new approaches" to the Bible and Christian history, it is not acceptable for Orthodox Christians to set aside the teaching of the Church to embrace those approaches. Scholarship is not theology, and we ought not pretend it is.

It is tempting, judging from responses I see from my friends, to drive into the opposite ditch.  That way leads to heartache, as I have discussed a lot over the last few years. There is a "reasonable middle" in the Church. We should all strive to occupy that ground.

You Had to Be There....

Coming of age in the late 80s and early 90s, we had a saying -- "you just had to be there."  In the post-COVID era, I feel like this should be repurposed to the Church.

I cannot say how many times someone has told me they realized after COVID that they can "worship God at home," or "watch the services on Facebook."  This may work for certain Christian traditions, but the more sacramental and the more liturgical you are, the less it makes any sense at all.

If going to church is no more than gathering with like-minded people to learn stuff about God and listen to inspiring messages and sing songs, then sure -- you can do that anywhere.  But if church is an encounter with the living God, Who gives Himself to us in the sacraments, and if the priest is not just a dynamic and engaging figure who happens to know some stuff about God, but someone who has submitted to Holy Orders in the Church to preside over the sacraments and give eternal life to others, then that is not something that can be appreciated virtually.

I sympathize, don't misunderstand.  I prefer doing Zoom mediations and depositions in the post-COVID world.  COVID taught us that not everything must be done face-to-face.  Telemedicine, as just one example, has grown since 2020.  Convenience is great, and anyonymity can sometimes be comforting.  But Christianity is not something that can be virtualized.  Yes, the Church is messy.  Yes other people sometimes irritate or annoy us, or tempt us to sin in other ways.  Yes, the priest might be in a bad mood or the choir might be missing some of its better voices or the reader might get a frog in his throat right before chanting something (that literally happened to me last month).  Maybe someone's toddler is crying or, worse, some adult is acting out.  Maybe the building is too hot or it's too far to drive or I was out too late and want to sleep in.

Maybe there's a football game on that morning!

Still, salvation is, at its core, a two-fold process.  We acquire union with God, then we take God's light into the world .  The former can only be done in person.  Priests consecrate the sacraments, and with the sole exception of emergency baptism, laity are not authorized to do so.  We can't give obedience to a TV screen or a YouTube video on our phone.  We must give obedience to people, starting with our priests and bishops.  We can't even forgive people virtually, for if we avoid people, what is there to ever forgive?  The problem with this is, who is there to ever love?  Because we also can't love people virtually.  Not really, not as they actually are.  At best we're loving a facsimile of the person.  So not only can't we receive God virtually, but we also cannot share Him virtually.  God's love is communal.  We are, as I've said many times, saved in community.

It remains fascinating to me, this preference for virtual "church."  The entire point of salvation is learning to love others as Christ loves us.  The only way to do that is in union with Christ, for it is in Him that we learn to love our neighbor.  It's one reason the Orthodox Church does not serve private masses -- there must be at least one layperson present to have a valid Divine Liturgy.  When it comes to God, you do have to be there.