Explainer

Attention

Creed

Weirdness

20 June 2023

6 min read

Making vows: How binding promises can lead to true freedom

We make all kinds of vows - to marriage promises, to keep up subscriptions, some even make a vow to live a monastic life. Alex Hughes explores what motivates a vowed life and its often counter-intuitive commitments.

Alex Hughes

Alex Hughes is Archdeacon of Cambridge in the Diocese of Ely.

At Mucknell Abbey, an Anglican Benedictine community, Brother Michäel paints an icon.

Quid petis? (What do you seek?)

What will you commit to, and for how long, and at what cost or for what benefit? And how will you structure your life in order to fulfil your commitments?

These questions touch on the very mundane – gym membership, streaming subscriptions, etc. – and the most serious aspects of life, such as romantic partnerships and career moves. Do you decide these matters in accordance with an overarching philosophy of life or by some golden rules you follow?

The same questions are faced with momentous intentionality by people in religious communities. According to ancient tradition, admission to the religious life begins with a ritual answer to the question, “Quid petis?”, and the community rule ensures that its pattern of life supports and fulfils the quest.

The question of what we most want in life rarely leads people to become a monk or a nun. For most of us it seems impossible to believe that personal fulfilment could be found within the limits of a strictly vowed life. And yet, more people live under religious vows than you might first imagine.

The notion of a binding, life-long commitment is still quite an alien thought.

The most common vows in many Christian traditions are made at baptism, confirmation and marriage; as well as ordination vows for those who become clergy. But even if this makes the idea of a vowed life a little more familiar, the notion of a binding, life-long commitment is still quite an alien thought. However, a new book on The Vowed Life in the Anglican Church argues that not only do vows demand more attention within the church than they seem to have garnered recently, but they are actually a point of considerable interest and allure to those outside the Church and may be seen as liberating and life-giving for those who undertake them.

In his most famous sermon (the Sermon on the Mount), Jesus says:

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

.At first, this seems counterintuitive. Surely he meant to say:

“Where your heart is, there will your treasure be also”?

I don’t think so. There is a romantic idea that people follow their hearts, but if that were the case, advertising would be a fool’s errand. Advertisers know very well that our hearts’ desires are unstable and that they are easily attracted by the treasures of beauty, wealth, fame and so on. And most of us will have had the experience of being led to desire something – a flashy car, a bigger house, a better job, a sexier partner – only to discover that the treasure that captured our hearts does not bring the lasting satisfaction for which we yearned. At the heart of religion is the belief that God is the treasure we seek; that only God can truly satisfy our deepest desire. For Christians, this does refer to the future - to “treasure in heaven” - but not only to that; or at least, not in a simple way. This is where vows come in.

Our identities, including the pattern of our desires, are to an extent given, not self-made.

Probably the most puzzling of all religious vows are the ones made by parents and godparents for children at their baptism. How can anyone make a vow by proxy? How can anyone dare to make a vow on behalf of someone else? Surely everyone, especially children, should be free to make their own decisions? Well, it is certainly true that vowing a child to Christian life goes against the modern ideal of the autonomous human subject who freely makes unconditioned choices for themself. But anyone who has ever raised a child will know that whatever its critical benefits, it is also a myth.

Parents make multiple significant decisions about how their child will grow up, and those decisions have a deep and lasting effect on the child, for good or ill. Such formation is inescapable and no one, not even with the help of skilful introspection or expert psychoanalysis, can step outside their personal history and make unconstrained choices about who they become. Our identities, including the pattern of our desires, are to an extent given, not self-made. This remains true even in the light of postmodern resistance to the idea that people have a fixed identity, rather than one that changes and shifts as it is performed, since the performance does not arise ex nihilo (out of nothing). We are, as Heidegger said, “thrown” into life: we are conditioned, contingent, and no achievement of individual can release us from that.

In the first act of King Lear, as his faculties begin to unravel, the king famously asks:

“Who is it that can tell me who I am?”

Christians answer this with reference to the voice of God discerned in the Hebrew scriptures:

“I have called you by name; you are mine.”

These words are spoken to those who are confirmed, when they renew their baptism vows, which (as I have said) were often made for them when they were too young to speak for themselves. The invitation at confirmation is to take mature responsibility for those solemn promises, which is easier to understand than the earlier vows made by proxy. But even this is not entirely straightforward, because while someone might joyfully receive the gift of a God-given identity – “I have called you by name” – which is not subject to successful performance, how could anyone agree honestly with the divine claim, “you are mine,” since even the greatest saint knows that their daily performance is largely governed by self-interest? This leads us to the crux of the vowed life, where we can begin to see how it is possible, and even desirable, to bind oneself to something despite the risk of failure.

This is the deep context of our lives, into which we are “thrown,” not by blind chance but by divine choice.

I have already alluded to the matter of choice in our lives and the conflicts that may arise between a religious, a modern and a postmodern perspective; but there is something more, and much more important, to be said from a Christian point of view. The Christian view is that it is not so much our choice about God that matters than God’s choice about us. God chose to create the world and God chooses each one of us, which is the only choice that matters ultimately. This is the deep context of our lives, into which we are “thrown,” not by blind chance but by divine choice. Fundamentally, therefore, all religious vows are about choosing to be who we already are; choosing to live as one who has been chosen by God. Every other choice is made in this light so that whatever happens, no matter what choices we make in the future, good or bad, God’s fundamental choice of us never changes. And the experience of living under this promise is one of liberation.

The (post-)modern ideal of complete personal freedom necessarily entails total responsibility, so that the overall success or failure of our lives lies in our hands alone. Perhaps a few narcissistic individuals can easily accept this – “He was a self-made man, and he worshipped his creator!” – but it is a heavy burden of responsibility. The religious alternative does not deny the importance of responsibility - the Bible is concerned from beginning to end with the demands of justice and righteousness - but it does not make our performance the final measure of our worth, and therefore of our identity. If we have bound ourselves to the identity God gives, any account of ourselves such as, “I am a failure … a loser … a disappointment” is covered by “I am a beloved child of God”. It is by living into the divine indicative – “I have called you by name” – that we can begin to let go of self-reliance and welcome and inhabit the sustaining power of God’s “you are mine”.

For sure, the idea of binding, life-long promises may be countercultural today but, rightly understood, they can be seen as joyful and liberating. Those who seek this way of life seek a heavenly treasure that enriches life at every step.

Further reading

The Vowed Life, eds. Sarah Coakley & Matthew Bullimore (Canterbury Press, 2023)

Explainer

Creed

Eating

Sustainability

20 October 2023

9 min read

What wine teaches us about the big things in life

Wine connects us to the soil and each other, writes Mark Scarlata, as he unpacks what oenology – the study of wine, can teach us about ontology – the study of being.

Mark Scarlata

Mark is a lecturer and priest. He’s the author of several books and his latest, Wine, Soil and Salvation, explores the use of wine throughout the Old and New Testament.

Evening sun sets glowing light across vines in a vinyard.

Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

I remember one of the first wine tastings that I went to. I happened to be placed at a table of people who really knew what they were talking about when it came to wine. I watched as they expertly swirled their glasses yet when I swirled mine the wine almost flew out all over the table. Then we all sniffed and were asked to say what smells came to mind. Dark red currants, blackberry, plum, leather, tobacco and all sorts of other things were mentioned. I kept my mouth shut because the only thing I could think of was, ‘This smells like wine to me.’ But that didn’t sound very sophisticated.

Years later, I’ve come to appreciate wine in a completely different way. Not because my palate has been refined or because I’ve taken wine courses on how to pick out scents such as truffles or crushed gravel, but because I study the Bible. Surprisingly enough, the Bible has a lot to say about wine and how it relates to our lives together, our relationship to the earth and our relationship to God.

In the ancient world, from the very earliest civilizations, wine was an important part of everyday life and religion. Whether in Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Persia, Greece or Rome, wine was a critical fixture in worship and making offerings to the gods. Stories of wine gods such as Dionysus or Bacchus reveal a drink that was created to please both the gods and humanity. Tales are told of wild bacchanals or orgiastic feasts that likely ended with bad hangovers and much worse. In many of these ancient cultures wine was seen as a gift from the gods so that human beings could enjoy themselves and it was offered back to the gods in all types of religious rituals that often involved drunken exploits. In the Bible, however, we find a very different story. It’s a story that goes back to the very beginnings of creation in the garden of Eden.

Here, in the garden, the moral world is bound up with a material world.

The first book of the Bible, Genesis, begins with a God who creates the heavens and the earth. This is not some distant, aloof god who is separated from his creation. God is depicted as a gardener who is not afraid to get his hands dirty in the soil. God forms the first human from the dust of the earth and then breathes into him the breath of life. We usually call this person ‘Adam’, as if it’s a personal name, but it’s not. ‘Adam’ is a wordplay on the Hebrew word for soil adamah. You can see and hear the similarity between the two. The reason for the wordplay is to emphasize humanity’s connection to the soil. We, as human beings, are inextricably bound to the life of the land. Our nourishment, our sustenance and our very existence is reliant on the earth beneath our feet.

Beyond our physical connection to the land, the story of Genesis (and the rest of the Bible) also assumes our spiritual connection to the land. When the first garden dwellers disobey God’s command and eat the forbidden fruit, the land becomes cursed. We witness a breakdown in what was originally meant to be a harmonious relationship between Adam and adamah. Adam will now experience toil when he works the land and it will produce thorns and thistles. Here, in the garden, the moral world is bound up with a material world. Human disobedience to God’s command results in a broken relationship with God, with one another and with the land. So what does this have to do with wine? We’ll discover, as the story continues, that wine is a gift that comes from the renewed earth through the character of Noah to provide relief for humanity.

Most people are familiar with the story of Noah’s Ark, whether from children’s books about the ark or memories of stuffed animals packed in a boat with Noah and his wife, Mrs. Noah (we’re never told her name which seems slightly unfair considering all the work she presumably had to do taking care of the animals). What we don’t often recall, however, is the prediction made by his father, Lamech, when Noah was born. Lamech says, ‘Out of the ground that the Lord has cursed this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the toil of our hands’. If the curse upon the earth and toil came through Adam, then relief from that toil would come through Noah. The key phrase here is ‘out of the ground’ because something will spring up from the soil in the renewed creation after the flood that will bring relief which is the advent of the vine.

Back to the story of the Ark. After the flood retreats, Noah leaves the ship and worships God. In very short order we’re told:

‘Noah, a man of the soil, was the first to plant a vineyard. He drank some of the wine and became drunk, and he lay uncovered in his tent’.

Now if you’ve ever planted grapevines (Vitis vinifera), you’ll know that it takes at least three years to get your first harvest of grapes. The biblical story, however, jumps quickly ahead to Noah finally having produced his first vintage.

He waited for the grapes to ferment after being crushed. He stored them in a cool place and when the time was right, he was able to drink his first cup of wine. It seems, however, that he probably had more than one cup since he was soon lying passed out in his tent. There’s no specific judgement of Noah here. After all that he had been through we might imagine a cup of wine was just what he needed. Drunkenness, however, is later explicitly condemned by the biblical authors. One rabbinic commentator, however, in defence of Noah, argued that because he hadn’t drunk wine previously, he only had a sip which made him pass out.

Despite Noah’s first encounters with wine, a more significant story is being told. The flood acts as a type of cleansing and renewal of creation in Genesis as part of God’s judgment so that humanity could once again live in relationship with God and the land. After the flood, the earth is in need of renewal and only Noah can achieve this. We are told that Noah found favour in the eyes of God, that he was righteous and blameless and that he walked with God. Unlike almost any other character in the Bible, Noah is distinctly set apart because of his moral purity. And it’s through his purity that humanity’s relationship to the land is restored and the gift of the vine springs forth to bring relief from our toil.

Drinking wine has often been likened to a spiritual experience. To taste a well-crafted wine is to drink in the sun, the rain, the wind, the soil and all the blessings of the earth.

When we look at other ancient myths concerning wine, we discover something far different in the biblical vision. The Bible offers a picture of a world where the material and the spiritual are bound together within the intricate web of creation. The earthly and the heavenly are united. Though we are made from the soil and tethered to the land, we are also spiritual creatures who share in the breath of God. We have the capacity to experience God’s spiritual blessings, but we also experience his gifts through our senses, through our physical engagements in the world and through the gift of wine.

This is why drinking wine has often been likened to a spiritual experience. To taste a well-crafted wine is to drink in the sun, the rain, the wind, the soil and all the blessings of the earth. When we are attentive to the wine we’re able to savour its complex flavours and aromas. We come to appreciate its multifaceted character and the reflections it offers on the land where it was grown and harvested. Wine, unlike any other food or drink, brings out the qualities and identity of a particular place.

There is a French word, terroir, that is often used to describe this connection to place that gives a wine its character and flavour. Wine experts understand that even the slightest change in weather, soil content, drainage or the lay of the land can have dramatic effects on the final product. I don’t doubt that the biblical authors understood the same. Yet they also understood that the gift of wine, the blessing of relief that came through Noah, was also connected to our moral lives, to how we love God and neighbour and to how we care for his creation.

Wine is a gift that eases our toil and makes our hearts glad. Wine reminds us of our deep connections to the soil and how we play our part within the community of creation.

The story of wine in the Bible is one that reminds us that we do not live in this world as autonomous creatures completely disconnected from the land around us. In the beginning, human beings were instructed by God to care and keep the land as an act of service and partnership with the hope of encouraging fertility, abundance and life. American conservationist, Aldo Leopold, sums this up when he writes about a having a ‘land ethic’ that should govern how we live in the world. He argues that our ethical behaviour should take into account things like soils, water, plants and animals. He goes on to say that this, ‘changes the role of Homo sapiens from conquerer of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it.’

We live in an age where humanity is driven by the pursuit of power and control over the environment rather than creatively working with, and caring for, the natural world. Advances in technology and the idea of limitless freedom have led to what Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann calls an ‘economy of extraction’. This is a system that strips the land without concern as if our resources are unlimited and are ours to do with as we please. Such practices not only destroy the ecology and biodiversity of the land, but they can also deprive local economies and create greater gaps between rich and poor. Pope Francis addresses this in his 2015 encyclical, Laudato si’, where he calls for an integrated ecology that takes into consideration our use of natural resources to improve the common good and to alleviate the suffering of those who have been hurt the most by this economy of extraction.

The beginnings of wine in the Bible tell a story that involves the whole of creation. It’s a story that emphasises our relationship to the land, to God and to one another. How we care for and keep the soil is a reflection of how we care for one another. Other stories in in the Bible imagine a world full of justice and mercy where there is peace and concern for the common good. In such a world the biblical authors also see the earth respond with its own fertility—fields that produce bumper crops, trees that bear abundant fruit and a hills bursting with grapes and wine. Fertility, life and wine are all interconnected in the biblical world, but they have sadly been disconnected in the modern world.

Wine is not just a drink in the Bible. It’s a sign and symbol of salvation, of life, joy, abundance and fertility. Wine is a gift that eases our toil and makes our hearts glad. Wine reminds us of our deep connections to the soil and how we play our part within the community of creation. Wine awakens our senses and leads us to praise the God who is the giver of all good gifts. So, as we lift our glasses to celebrate in our homes, at meals, at weddings, or wherever we are, we might offer a prayer of thanks. Thanksgiving for the gift God gives that eases the toil and gladdens the heart. We might even recite the Jewish prayer which is prayed on the eve of the Sabbath and on other occasions.