Day 1 in the Life of a Christian Atheist

Image from axle_foley00 on flickr

Not so good on the atheism front, akshully.

While I didn’t go to church or pray today, I failed in my so-called atheism by:

I also had a lot of discussion with my husband about the catholic church, things that frustrate me about it, and things I don’t understand about it. My husband also admitted to me today that he did not want to be an atheist. Scaredy-cat. (Ha.)

“Enjoying God” Series on Hiatus; Focus on Christian Atheism Begins

Image from http://www.livingbueno.com

For at least a week.

During the week, I intend to live as (demi-)atheistically as I can. I’ll probably fail since some knowledge of God has always been a part of my life, and intensive knowledge of God has been a habit for 12 years. What will change?

Unfortunately, not that much.

  • I won’t be going to church this Sunday. I am not planning on oversleeping to miss it; I just will make a purposeful decision not to go.
  • I will still be reading the devotional plans on my iPhone, courteously provided for free through YouVersion. But since I’m spiritually struggling, they’ve been nothing but words on a page.
  • Not actively praying. My prayer life is minimal at best (maybe a formal prayer once a week?) so it looks like I’m not changing my habits much. Besides, I’ve been praying for various things (and for various people) for a while now and none of those prayers have been answered. Why bother?

Why?

Insight into this decision can probably be gleaned from my last post, “Day 32 of Enjoying God: Faith (or lack thereof).” But I do have a few more reasons as to why I’m making a conscious decision to (kind of) stray away from my faith for a week. Continue reading ““Enjoying God” Series on Hiatus; Focus on Christian Atheism Begins”

Forgiveness and assorted rambles about the Bride of Christ

I’m struggling with forgiving the church.

You see, I want to forgive the church with all of its foibles and shortcomings but that means if I forgive the church then in the future, I can’t bring up what it’s done wrong in the past. And heaven forbid that I actually put into practice something that God tells me to do.

I’ve always thought of myself as more of a forgiver than a grudge-holder, and I tend to be, but I do have my occasions when I hold grudges as good as someone in the mafia. It took me about 15 years to forgive my classmates for teasing me in grade school (and I’m not that old). I say that I’ve even forgiven my coworkers from three years ago but if I see any of them again, I have no doubt that what they said about me would be the first memories to rush back into my mind.

I met with someone in my church on Wednesday morning to discuss a lot of the issues I had about my church. He didn’t fix them but he was kind, listened to me ramble, and offered advice when he could.

The problem with me is that I had an issue with how certain things were handled several years ago, swept my issue under the table (“It doesn’t matter anyway/won’t change things”), and kept moving forward. The problem is, I swept that issue under the table but never used a dustpan to remove it. It just stayed there. And I continued to sweep and sweep, never using a dustpan until this huge pile of dirt began festering and became noticeable enough that I needed to take care of it.

And was everything handled well? Not really. But that’s where forgiveness comes in. I need to recognize that people do the best they can but we all will fall short along the way. I need to wipe the slate of my mind clean and look at others without bias and judgment.

I often wonder, however, whether I’ve outgrown my church.

Outgrown really isn’t the correct word. More like grown apart. I suppose this is an issue I would have had to contend with whether or not the pastor left.

I notice things now that I hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps because I am struggling with discontentment, I find things to grumble about. But because I notice them, I want them to be addressed. I also, however, need to recognize that we have installed a new pastor and that things are very well changing behind the scenes and haven’t been conveyed to the congregation yet. I also need patience.

For a period of two-plus years, my church was without a pastor. As the person I met with on Wednesday said, the church went into “survival mode.” Two people (who were not in full-time ministry) were charged with basically keeping this 100+ (and growing) congregation together.

But things fell along the wayside. Or perhaps it was an issue that had always fallen along the wayside.

My church is located in a nice, suburban, middle-class to upper-middle-class area west of Philadelphia. The area is heavily Catholic, surrounded by Catholic churches or Catholic schools. It is a bustling town right along the Schuylkill River. The town is predominantly white, however, there is a prominent pocket of Koreans in one section.

Then there is a strip that runs along the side of town where many of the minorities live. Blacks and Hispanics reside along this street and I’m told that is the seedy part of the town—where the drug dealers and hookers are. But it is also where, I’m sure, some honest hard-working people cannot afford to leave because the main part of town is much too expensive to live in.

My church is reflective of the majority population of the area: white and middle-class to upper-middle-class. Even the minorities in our church (you can count on one hand and the group includes me) are more along the well-to-do side. To paraphrase Tim Keller’s lament in his bestselling book, The Prodigal God, I am in a church of elder brothers that is desperately in need of younger brothers.

Despite my spiritual depression, I have been struck by how much I have learned about Jesus’ personality through all of my readings. I seem to know him better than I did even two or three years ago. I am constantly amazed by the examples in which Jesus spent time with the people we consider the refuse of this world: the lepers, the blind, the lame, the weak, the prostitutes, the women, the tax collectors, the obvious sinners. But Jesus wasn’t discriminating, he also spent time with the Pharisees and the Saduccees—those who wanted to meet with him but in secret. Jesus was willing to meet with anyone anywhere who wanted to meet with him.

If Jesus were around today, I think he’d be hanging around drug dealers and users, alcoholics, womanizers, gays, HIV-positive patients, Las Vegas showgirls, porn stars—part of the people who will readily admit that they don’t have it all together. But Jesus would probably meet with politicians, Hollywood stars, CEOs, white-collar workers, Wall Street businessmen—all the people who pretend like they have it all together but in secret, are really searching for something or someone to give their life real meaning.

Jesus was never an either/or kind of guy. Why must his followers be? Why can’t a church that arguably could be considered wealthy reach out to the people that Jesus would have reached out to? Is the church’s message so comfortable that it alienates the outcasts and welcomes the moralists?

For all of my complaining, I don’t have any solutions. My first step, however, in 2011 will be to read the book When Helping Hurts to discover the appropriate ways to reach out to a poorer, minority-filled community. I can’t imagine that it would be good for either me or that community to barge in and start doling out food without first discovering how to appropriately minister to their needs. The fact that I look more like them could be a help or a hindrance. I don’t know. But perhaps the fact that we share a darker skin color has given me a burden to reach out to them.

People say one person can make a difference. I don’t know. I think I share more of Hillary Clinton’s perspective in that “it takes a village.” I don’t know if I can make a difference in anyone’s life or if I can accomplish anything at all as one person. But I would like to get the ball rolling.

The Armor of Pretentious Spirituality & the Shield of Piousness

A friend said this to me on Twitter today:

I do think people are dishonest in general about their ‘spirituality.’

I have to agree with him. And I can’t help wonder why that is.

This statement forced me to look at my own spirituality. I like to think that I’m rather “real” when it comes to my Christian life. Too often I’m frustrated by people who try to act like they have it all together just because they have Jesus in their lives and I’m always comparing myself mercilessly to people who seem particularly pious and pray and read their Bibles all the time.

On the contrary, I also look at the people who practice yoga religiously or listen to the teachings of Eckhart Tolle and wonder if they’ve discovered some inner peace that I still find myself seeking.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that we all put on a front to some extent. There are days (perhaps sometimes weeks!) when I’ve got this spiritual connection going, some amazing mountaintop relationship with God and I really am a prayer warrior and in touch with a power greater than myself.

Then there are days (and weeks!) that go by when I don’t pray, get angry with God, feel lost as though I’m stumbling through life just trying to life in the physical, and going through the motion of attending church because it’s what I do and not necessarily because I want to. (Is that right to do? No.)

So it’s time for me to strip off the armor of pretentious spirituality and put down the shield of piousness:

  • I do not go to church every Sunday. Catholic guilt plagues me afterward but it’s true. I like my sleep more than I like fellowshipping or worshipping with the saints.
  • I do not formally pray every day. If I pray at all, it might be a quick “Lord, please make this migraine go away” but I don’t get down on my knees every night regularly and pray for my family, your family, everyone’s needs, and world peace. I sometimes formally pray but more often than not, I don’t. And more often than not, I forget. And even more often than that, I just don’t want to.
  • I take the Lord’s name in vain occasionally. (Sorry for the following, God.) I’ve caught myself saying a “Lord have mercy” or “Oh my, God” when it’s not necessary or directed to God. It doesn’t happen often and I try to get around it by saying “Heaven, have mercy” but that just sounds silly afterward.
  • I do not like to fellowship with other believers on most days. Some Christians love nothing more than good Christian fellowship all the time. Great for them. I prefer to be alone or around unbelievers. For some reason, I feel the need to pretend like everything’s fine around other Christians. Going to Bible study this summer was heart-wrenching for me as I spent month after month discovering I was not pregnant and not feeling like I could really share that with a group of women who were pregnant or already had kids (for the most part). I always left Bible study feeling worse off than when I arrived so I stopped going or helped with childcare.
  • Reading tons of theological books does not make me a theological maven. I’m reading three books on theology, God’s love, and the Bible and I feel more filled with head knowledge and no closer to any heart knowledge. I wonder if a return to the basics of Jesus Christ and the removal of deep reformed theology from my brain would help but I don’t know how to go back.
  • I wonder if non-Christians have it better than I do. Hate on Deepak Chopra all you want but the man doesn’t complain about unhappiness. And Oprah seems to be doing all right…
  • I question my own beliefs:
    • Jesus ascended into heaven bodily? Um, wouldn’t he explode once he reached a certain altitude?
    • Jesus is returning and after that, no more sin and world peace? When? Will it ever happen? Is that just a fairy tale?
    • It’s wrong to romantically love someone who is of the same gender?
    • God created Ryan Seacrest? (Just kidding.)
  • I question God’s purpose for me. Constantly. Why am I here? I mean, me specifically. You have a different purpose than I do. What am I supposed to accomplish before I die? Is the afterlife really peaceful?
  • And the most basic question of all: Am I a person who really, truly loves Jesus and would sacrifice ALL to follow him?

The answer to that last question is no. And if you’re reading this, you’re probably answering similarly if you’re honest with yourself. By the way, if you still think you’d sacrifice all to follow Jesus then let me challenge you do to this right now:

Sell your house,
Sell your SUV,
Sell your stock,
Sell your security,
And give it to the poor.¹

Won’t do/haven’t done that? Yeah, your answer’s the same as mine.

Perhaps the way back to genuinely following Christ is to strip off the facades we wear. Maybe if I showed up at church and asked someone how he was doing and he responded honestly, “A tough week but I’m hanging in there” rather than the standard “Just fine,” perhaps we’d exhibit a bit more Christ-likeness.

I love Mark Driscoll’s ministry and I think he’s done a lot to reach others for Christ in the 21st century, but the machismo thing bothers me. Sorry, I can’t quite picture Jesus going to Monday Night RAW or cheering on guys beating each other senseless in the UFC. On the contrary (which is probably Driscoll’s real point), I don’t think Jesus would’ve been a pansy flower child flashing the peace sign and getting high in the middle of a muddy field.

Jesus is the sovereign Lord of the universe. During his time on earth, he exhibited emotion and didn’t pretend to be something he was not. When Lazarus died, the Lamb of God felt the real sting of death and wept for his friend (before resurrecting him!). When money changers were desecrating the temple of God, Jesus displayed righteous anger in preserving a sanctuary that was supposed to be kept holy. And right before Jesus faced the cruelest death anyone could face, fear flowed through his body as he pleaded three times with his heavenly Father to take the task at hand away from him (before submitting himself to God’s will).

Wow. Sadness, anger, and fear. All from the one whom Christians call their Savior. Jesus didn’t pretend to be okay. Jesus wasn’t all macho like, “Yo, dudes, I got this. No sweat.” Not even with the apostles, his closest friends, who he asked to stay up with him before Judas betrayed him. Jesus was real.

And if Jesus was real, why do believers in him keep acting so damn fake?

¹Quoted from Derek Webb’s “Rich Young Ruler”

Anne Rice and association with Christianity

On July 28, famed author Anne Rice posted the following on her Facebook page:

For those who care, and I understand if you don’t: Today I quit being a Christian. I’m out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being “Christian” or to being part of Christianity. It’s simply impossible for me to “belong” to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I’ve tried. I’ve failed. I’m an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else. [source]

As I said below, I quit being a Christian. I’m out. In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life. In the name of Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen. [source]

After quoting a number of verses from Matthew, I Corinthians, and John, she concludes her rejection of Christianity with this:

My faith in Christ is central to my life. My conversion from a pessimistic atheist lost in a world I didn’t understand, to an optimistic believer in a universe created and sustained by a loving God is crucial to me. But following Christ does not mean following His followers. Christ is infinitely more important than Christianity and always will be, no matter what Christianity is, has been, or might become. [source]

I’m not a fan of Rice mainly because I’ve never read her books but I’ve followed her developments and statements with minimal interest since she shifted from atheism to Catholicism. Such extreme pendulum swings in faith never fail to intrigue me. With Rice’s most recent statement, I’m forced to evaluate what it is about Christianity that’s so abhorrent that she’s chosen to renounce Christ?

Before her public repudiation, it’s clear that she was struggling with many unfortunate issues Christianity is associated with. A few Facebook posts from last Tuesday:

Gandhi famously said: “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” When does a word (Christian)become unusable? When does it become so burdened with history and horror that it cannot be evoked without destructive controversy? [source]

Since some of you mentioned the Westboro Baptist Church in comments below, I thought I’d publish this recent news story about them. This is chilling. I wish I could say this is inexplicable. But it’s not. That’s the horror. Given the history of Christianity, this is not inexplicable at all. —Link to “How Young Is Too Young to Learn Hate?” an article about Westboro Baptist Church [source]

This shocking link was provided by a poster below. No wonder people despise us, Christians, and think we are an ignorant and violent lot. I don’t blame them. This kind of thing makes me weep. Maybe commitment to Christ means not being a Christian. —Link to “GOP-linked punk rock ministry says executing gays is ‘moral’” an article about an anti-gay Christian nonprofit [source]

These things associated with Christianity in America are unfortunate not to mention the personal travails Ms. Rice has encountered (losing a daughter to leukemia, losing her husband of 41 years, and watching her other son — a gay rights activist — endure hate-filled rants and threats in the name of Christ). I’ve never experienced any of the things she’s experienced but it makes me understand why she would choose to “quit being a Christian… in the name of Christ.”

I’ve read a lot of posts by Christians questioning whether a person can tell Christ that she loves him but doesn’t want to be part of his Bride (that is, the universal body of Christ—commonly known as the Church). The common conclusion is that no, you can’t love Christ and not be part of his Bride.

But let’s look at this example: let’s say my husband had a close friend and this close friend of his saw me spewing bigoted remarks at other people and talking about killing people who I didn’t believe lived up to my husband’s ideal of how people ought to be. I think my husband’s friend would have every right to say, “Man, I like hanging out with you but I can’t be around when your wife is around. She acts so terrible, it reflects badly on who I am.”

Christians think that the Bride is above criticism because Christ instituted the Church. Jesus loves the Church, yes, but he sees our warts and flaws and knows it is comprised of sinners. And because Christians can be so pompous about what the Bible teaches (right or not), we sometimes drive those within our body away.

Do I agree with Rice’s decision? No, I don’t, but I respect it. I’ve read some other people argue that she should have stayed in the Church (in her instance, the Roman Catholic Church) and tried to effect change from within.

Another personal example, if you’ll allow me: After Obama’s historical election to the presidency in 2008, I chose to leave the Democratic Party. I am a staunchly pro-life (that is, anti-abortion, anti-death penalty) citizen and discovered that the Democratic Party’s stance on abortion had become so relaxed (with President Obama having the most relaxed abortion policies I’ve ever heard of) that there was no way staying in the party would allow me to effect change from within. Even though I am mostly a Democrat in other respects, to continue to be a part of an institution that I had such a fundamental disagreement with would have caused me more harm than good.

However, I’m still a Christian because I believe Jesus has called me to be a part of his Church no matter how many gripes I have with my fellow believers. I believe in the cause of Christ more than I believe in his followers. And I believe that Christ’s message of love and repentance is not just for a certain group of sinners but for all people. Jesus came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance. He came for those who are sick, not those who are well.

Like I said, I don’t agree with Ms. Rice’s decision but I respect it. They are too many Christians who think that they’re righteous and well just because they claim the name of Christ. Ms. Rice will only return to the Church once she sees more Christians admitting that they’re sickly sinners.

Desperately seeking local female friend who loves Jesus, Justin*, and John**

A ramble/rant/possible form of incoherence.

I am trying to reconcile who I am with who God wants me to be as a married woman living in the Philadelphia area. More than that, I think, I struggle with trying to reconcile who I am with what I think Christianity expects or wants me to be.

I’ve written before about how I see differences between myself and other women. I am currently struggling with my role as a Christian woman within the church. I’m 28, married, and currently childless. I’m a minority at my church. Moreover, I’m suddenly starting to feel like a minority in my phase of life. I am having a difficult time accepting that I’m in the stage of life where many of my friends are married and having children and parenthood is not a place God has called me to yet.

I am also struggling with the idea of a glass ceiling in the church: how much can women serve and is that glass ceiling really ordained by God or by power-hungry, chauvinistic men hanging onto an archaic rule that served its purpose for that time and that culture? (My husband warned me that I sound all Brian McLaren with those thoughts, but I happen to think he’s a little biased considering he’s a guy and all.)

I spent the day crying (partially about what I don’t have but also) about what I like: social media; reformed theology; discussing mental health issues; writing fiction; blogging about topics that don’t include fashion, kids, or TV shows; pop music; and going to concerts. I am grieved by the superficial — apart from my faith, I share very little in common with the women of my church.

I whine about the days when I used to be able to call up a buddy and say, “Hey, want to go to a concert with me?” and she’d say, “Sure! Time and date, please!” and we’d just go. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have children that I still feel that kind of freedom. But even if I did, I’d hope that I’d still be able to go. (I attend concerts once or twice a year.)

I feel the need to live two different lives: a life with Christians where I act all Christian and do whatever Christian people do and a life with non-Christians where we share similar interests but nothing that unites as deeply as spiritual things do. Is it wrong for me to want the two worlds to collide? To want the crazy friend who dyes her hair pink and purple, loves music, literature, and Jesus just as much as I do (if not more), and would go to Hershey with me to see Justin Bieber? To want that friend who can say, “You wanna hang out on Saturday and find a place in Philly where a local band is playing?” or “I’m in a really dark place right now in my life. Could you come over, talk, and pray with me?” Perhaps it’s never too late to develop imaginary friends. Or, slightly less creepy, put an ad up on the Philadelphia craigslist. (Maybe imaginary friends are safer, though. Hmm…)

I have friends all over the United States who I connect with on different levels, but in suburban Philadelphia, an area I’ll likely call home for the rest of my life, I still feel lost. I still see myself as the freak loser even though I’ve never gone to school here and have never had anyone tease me here. I have lots of local friends, but when I’m depressed, upset, and hurting, I don’t have that “one” friend I feel comfortable calling. Mostly because I know they’ve all got their kids and their husbands, and hence their busy lives that have little room or space for me.

I keep wondering how to rectify the situation. How to find my crazy Christian friend who loves Jesus, loves pop music, lives within 20 minutes, and can educate me on the greatness of Proust and Faulkner.

Or maybe I’ll just stick to this solitary life of writing novels and keeping hoping and wishing that I had different so I didn’t feel so immature, so isolated, and so alone.


How is a Christian woman supposed to act? In the novel I’m currently working on, my protagonist gets a brief lesson on being a Titus 2/Proverbs 31 (Biblical) woman. I’m feeling about as flummoxed as my character. The Biblical woman is ever working, ever busy, ever faithful, ever diligent. Striving to be like the woman the Bible outlines is striving for perfection — a goal I’ll surely never attain. Why bother at all?

I struggle with ambition. I am an ambitious woman. I don’t know what I want to do but I want to do something. But all I can do is write. There’s not much of a need for that in my local church.

I could go on and on but the rest of my thoughts are a jumble, I’m feeling tired and depressed again about how I’m doomed to live with a 16-year-old mentality in a 28-year-old body and a New York mentality in suburban Philadelphia, and how I have no kids and probably too much time on my hands. I need to get involved in something in which I can utilize my talents regularly but I’m not sure what.

*Justin Bieber
**John Piper

Former IFB still in recovery…

I don’t talk much about my short stint in Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) Land but the scars are still there. So much that I feel compelled to write a book (fiction) about it. I don’t know if there’s a Christian publisher out there crazy enough to publish it but I see it as a story that needs to be told. (I like to think Matthew Paul Turner‘s publisher might be a good place to start…)

For the first 16 years of my life, I grew up Roman Catholic. I went to Catholic schools throughout my entire primary and secondary education. I was baptized into the Catholic Church, received communion, and was even confirmed. (My confirmation name was Kateri Tekawitha.)

My uncle and aunt on my dad’s side began attending a church on the border of Queens and Nassau County, Long Island and soon my father began to go to church with them. I later joined my father and was immediately introduced to born-again Christianity. The first time I heard of hellfire and brimstone was the very day that I raised my hand and went forward during the altar call hoping I could avoid eternal damnation. I don’t think I became a “believer” that very day but it was a turning point for me in my Christian spirituality.

As a Catholic, I found that the one thing keeping me from committing suicide was the teaching that if I killed myself, I’d be plunged into an eternal hell. As a born-again Christian, I found the one thing that kept me alive was the teaching that Jesus loved me so much and died in my place to keep me out of hell. Perhaps this is why I gladly left the Roman Catholic Church for a Protestant one. (Although IFB preachers shun the term “Protestant.”)

The main character and protagonist of my novel, Ms. Montez, is based off of me. I’m careful not to make her exactly like me but the similarities are evident and many of the events affecting her and surrounding her are based on my personal experiences.

Ms. Montez is a 16-year-old Hispanic female who suffers from depression and frequently sees suicide as a viable option after struggling with being teased at school, the abandonment of her older brother, and the absence of real-life friends. But just like most people who attempt suicide, Ms. Montez does not want to necessarily die—she wants to be freed from the pain of depression; Ms. Montez is on a quest for inner peace.

When Ms. Montez visits an IFB church that her aunt goes to, she expresses an interest in knowing more about Jesus. She is drawn in and “sold” on born-again Christianity when it sounds as though she is promised freedom from depression, loneliness, and suicide through the cross of Jesus Christ.

There is more to the story but the book goes on to address issues that are common not just in IFB churches but in many Christian churches today: mental health, hypocrisy, greed, gossip, adultery, and legalism. If taken the wrong way, I firmly believe the book could be read as a condemnation on Christian churches, but it is not meant to be so. The book is about a young girl’s struggle to find and maintain a relationship with God in the midst of this messy, broken-down world of sin—the church not excluded. Continue reading “Former IFB still in recovery…”

The emergent movement & postmodernism: Part V

Impact of the emergent movement

There’s a lot of criticism of the emergent stream. And much of it is valid. If taken too far, the emergent movement could possess the ability to completely deconstruct Christianity in an attempt to demolish it.

But on the flip side, the emergent movement can be used to challenge the missional arm of the church in a postmodern culture. I like the way Driscoll put it in a Desiring God video I recently watched. In essence, Driscoll asked what missions would look like if Christianity were foreign to the U.S.? How would foreigners assimilate American culture and adopt the tools to best reach those who do not know God or Jesus Christ in a mission field? Because Christianity has been so pervasive and long-standing in American culture, American Christians take their backyard missions field for granted and assume that current American culture will bow to its old way of doing things when in reality, American Christians would never expect that in traveling to any other nation. The emerging movement enables American Christians to see the United States with fresh eyes from a missional standpoint.

The Emergent Church has also served as a rubber band for those who have escaped from the sharp talons of legalistic Christianity. The movement has enabled many Christians to retain certain core truths but make their faith flexible and pliable—when exercised, this faith can be tested and stretched without breaking and completely falling apart. Bell, in Velvet Elvis, refers to legalistic faith as a brick wall: pull one brick out and the rest of the wall crumbles because its support hinges on that one brick.

I’ve found emergent influence in dress. Older, more traditional Christians will complain that they can’t tell the difference between a young believer and a young non-believer because they simply look and act too much alike. Emergent influence in dress assists in blurring this distinction. Emerging Christians tend to dress down, and as some Christians complain, “look like the world.”  Emerging Christians will defend their choice of dress as part of cultural relevancy. Here’s a snapshot of Driscoll wearing a shirt of Jesus as a DJ while preaching.

There’s emergent influence in contemporary Christian art. Since I’m not an artist, I can’t define it very well but a look at the Mars Hill website (Rob Bell’s church in Grand Rapids, Michigan) will tell you all you need to know. I’ve provided a current snapshot of the website. (I don’t know if it changes.)

www.marshill.org

Is the emergent movement harmful to long-term Christianity?

Perhaps I’m an optimist in this area but I believe God is so much bigger than any one movement. If Judeo-Christianity has weathered all sorts of sects, migrations, movements, and off-shoots in the past 5,000+ years, it is likely to weather this one. God has promised to sustain and protect his church—not any one particular denomination but his “holy, catholic (universal) church.” The Emergent Church does not threaten or thwart God’s plans nor will it move God’s plans along any faster than He wants it to. The emergent movement can only be assessed in a Christian’s personal walk with God. How does that affect him or her? Has the emergent conversation added to or detracted from a person’s belief in the triune God? For some, the emergent movement has served to draw people closer to God in an effort to more fully “glorify Him and enjoy Him forever.” For others, the emergent movement is a distraction—a nuisance that must be eliminated in order to preserve the organized institution of Christianity. And there is yet another group who finds that while the emergent movement possesses many flaws, many of the questions and challenges it raises can prompt individuals to change their lives—and the lives of those around them—to better glorify, love, and serve God and others. This last group is the group I most identify with. To use another worn-out cliché, I am not willing to throw the baby out with the bathwater. (Even if the bathwater is very, very stinky and murky at times.) If that was the case, I would have walked away from Christianity the moment I left legalism.

The emergent movement & postmodernism: Part IV

Emergent and emerging

Some people, when speaking of the emergent movement, will use the words “emergent” and “emerging” interchangeably. However, Mark Driscoll takes good care to note that his Mars Hill church in Seattle is an emerging church (and part of an emerging conversation) rather than emergent. Driscoll’s distinction would be notable as he started out as part of the original emergent conversation and has since distanced himself from it. The reference to emerging is noted in Wikipedia as a “wider, informal, church-based, global movement” rather than the term emergent, which would specifically refer to those associated with the Emergent Village community (essentially the Emergent Church). Driscoll, in the following YouTube video, lists and defines four types of emerging voices:

  1. Emerging evangelicals: not trying to change Christianity, just trying to make it more applicable and more relevant
  2. House church evangelicals: Get rid of big church and meet in small groups like homes and coffee shops
  3. Emerging reformers: Believe in the reformed distinctives but try to make the church culturally relevant
  4. Emergent liberals: Calls everything into question including Christian orthodoxy without wanting to arrive at any answers

Note that Driscoll only uses the word emergent in connection the voices associated with the Emergent Village. This is the group Driscoll has publicly distanced himself from.

How does the emergent movement affect me?

The influence of the emergent church is pervasive in mainstream American Christianity. The main venue many of these emergent voices get their message out—apart from Internet-based distribution—is through their books. Don Miller is known for his New York Times bestseller Blue Like Jazz, Rob Bell has written a thought-provoking book titled Velvet Elvis, and Brian McLaren has recently released a book called A New Kind of Christianity that has unleashed a furor of criticism. While I find that many pastors eschew the emergent movement, many Christians are drawn to it. Perhaps it’s because the emergent movement has succeeded in making itself culturally relevant and practically applicable to those who do not hold theology degrees or work in Christian ministry for a living. Christians and non-Christians alike are taking notice of these works and this movement, even if they can’t quite define it.

Some time last year, my best friend [forever] (BFF) read Rob Bell’s book, Velvet Elvis, and insisted that I needed to read it. She promised it would help challenge my conventional notions and that it had helped her break some of the legalistic mindset she’d carried with her since graduating from a college that centered around a legalistic (and Pharisaical) lifestyle. I reluctantly borrowed her copy with a promise to read it only because she was my BFF. Here’s a short analysis I wrote last May:

When I was going through my “spiritual crisis” recently, my best friend handed me this book. She said, “You have to read it; it’ll change your outlook on Christianity.”I glanced down and read the title: Velvet Elvis. With a name like Velvet Elvis, how could this book be any good?

I opened the book up and began reading skeptically and with a critical eye. Bell starts out by discussing how he came a cross a paining of Velvet Elvis and then delves into this discussion of how there’s a big movement in history—something greater than ourselves happening. Standard fare from Rob Bell. After reading Bell’s response on Twittering the gospel, I was disillusioned with his outlook on Christianity. His answer seemed so vague… so unsatisfactory. His book couldn’t possibly offer anything better. Yet I made a promise to my friend and continued to push through the book.

To my surprise, Bell’s book isn’t as shallow as I’d thought.

While he repeats the rhetoric about a movement in history greater than ourselves, he explained Bible passages in a way that I’d never understood before. He draws heavily on Jewish culture to shed new light on Bible passages that once seemed so mundane. Never before had I known that the reference to “yoke” in Matthew 11:30 had deeper meaning than what oxen carry. And I never understood that the disciples functioned as Jesus’ talmidim. Bell’s writing style is clear but his message actually runs deep. …

Bell does seem to have a good grasp on the gospel but presents it in quite a different light. He acknowledges Jesus as the Son of God and “the way, the truth, and the life”–the only way to get to heaven. He also posits that truth can be found outside of the Bible. And since God is truth then anywhere truth is found, there God is. He uses Paul citing one of the Cretan prophets as an example of this.

He says that some Christians see their faith as a brick wall–pull out one brick and the structure of their faith begins to fall apart. He says that we need to be flexible. If something in our faith is wrong or proven as false, will we stray from the faith altogether?

A major problem I do have with this book is that nothing is absolute. He encourages Christians to question everything, including his book. Take nothing at face value. In fact, he asserts that God likes it when we ask questions. Turns out in Jewish culture, when rabbis ask students a question, students respond with… a question. According to Bell, straight answers are not standard. I don’t agree with this. There are absolutes in life and Bell doesn’t acknowledge or accept that.

While I’m not a fan of how Bell runs his church or the way he presents theology, Velvet Elvis is a book worth reading. I initially said I wouldn’t recommend it; I’ve since changed my mind. I’ve ordered my own copy and plan on rereading it, highlighting it, and marking it up. He makes some very many good points and I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I like this book. I’m afraid to pick up Sex God or his latest Jesus Wants to Save Christians but Velvet Elvis isn’t a bad read at all.

I have since returned my BFF’s copy to her and have my own copy with plans to re-read and highlight it. Velvet Elvis impacted me that much. And Velvet Elvis is indeed reflective of emergent conversation even if I wasn’t fully aware of it nearly a year ago.

The emergent movement & postmodernism: Part III

http://www.postmodern-art.com/postmodern_art_11.html

Postmodern background

From what I can gather, the emergent movement is part of a conversation that asks how Christians can minister in a postmodern (largely, secular) world.

Postmodernism developed as a reaction to the modernist movement. According to Wikipedia’s entry on the modernist movement, the term modernism “encompasses the activities and output of those who felt the ‘traditional’ forms of art, architecture, literature, religious faith, social organization and daily life were becoming outdated in the new economic, social and political conditions of an emerging fully industrialized world.” Interestingly, the wiki entry also notes that modernism rejected “the existence of a compassionate, all-powerful Creator.”

So postmodernism gets past all that modernist stuff, right? Not necessarily. In fact, some people see modernism and postmodernism as two sides of the same coin. Here are two definitions:

(1) A style and concept in the arts characterized by distrust of theories and ideologies and by the drawing of attention to conventions. (The Compact Oxford English Dictionary)

(2) Of, relating to, or being any of various movements in reaction to modernism that are typically characterized by a return to traditional materials and forms (as in architecture) or by ironic self-reference and absurdity (as in literature), or

of, relating to, or being a theory that involves a radical reappraisal of modern assumptions about culture, identity, history, or language. (Merriam-Webster)

Merriam-Webster’s latter definition (as opposed to its former) seems most appropriate to when referring to the Emergent Church.

At the risk of beating my readers over the head with more definitions, I’ll also refer to a Wikipedia entry that defines postmodern philosophy:

Postmodern philosophy is skeptical or nihilistic toward many of the values and assumptions of philosophy that derive from modernity, such as humanity having an essence which distinguishes humans from animals, or the assumption that one form of government is demonstrably better than another.

The wiki entry adds:

Postmodern philosophy has strong relations with the substantial literature of critical theory.

When you boil it down, the essence of postmodernism and its philosophy is rooted in criticism and critique. Question everything; take nothing at face value. Postmodern thought also moves away from superiority and toward equality (eg, humans aren’t superior to animals, capitalism isn’t better than communism). Postmodern thought has its place in society (eg, whites are not superior to blacks) but like all things, can be bad if taken too far.

So when I stumbled onto the Wikipedia entry about Postmodern Christianity, I found it interesting to read the following:

Many people eschew the label “postmodern Christianity” because the idea of postmodernity has almost no determinate meaning and, in the United States, serves largely to symbolize an emotionally charged battle of ideologies.

Today’s Emergent Church stresses a friendly conversation and an amiable exchange of ideas. But the identical foundations of secular postmodernism and the Emergent Church cannot be overlooked.

Criticism and critique. For example, consider how the Emergent Church began: by a group of friends who felt “disillusioned and disenfranchised” by 20th century Christianity. In other words, they became critical and sought to challenge the status quo. (Which I don’t have an issue with.) The critique of 20th century Christianity, however, never rose above just that—a critique. The critiques merely evolved into conversation, which leaders of the emergent stream want to keep amiable so as not to offend anybody within all sects and denominations of the Christian realm. My issue here is that constant talk doesn’t rectify wrongs or things that need to desperately be addressed in 21st century Christianity. There is a time for talk and a time for action. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

No determinate meaning. Like postmodernism, the emergent movement also has “no determinate meaning.” As I mentioned earlier, its leaders want it kept that way. One will find varying definitions of the Emergent Church (aka the emergent movement aka the Emerging Church aka the emergent stream, etc.) all over the Internet. I can’t help but think of Challies’s earlier reference of trying to nail Jello to the wall when trying to define the Emergent Church. My attempt here is only as skewed as my personal view. Perhaps the Emergent Church leaders also intended that as well—a lack of objectivity to define the emergent movement only fuels further discussion and conversation.

Deconstructionism. Also very much like postmodernism, the Emergent Church seeks deconstruction. Where postmodernism was deconstructivist in the sense that it sought to undermine the foundations of the subjects it would challenge, the Emergent Church seeks to deconstruct the organized and institutionalized church. The three main areas of deconstruction the Emergent Church addresses are:

  1. modern Christian worship,
  2. modern evangelism, and
  3. the nature of modern Christian community

Followers of the emergent movement can be found worshiping with others in homes rather than a church building and talking openly about their faith with others in a non-traditional setting such as a bar.

(L-R) Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, and Donald Miller

Leading emergent voices also stress that Christianity is just one big story that’s unfolding. Bell spoke about this in his books Velvet Elvis and Jesus Wants to Save Christians and discussed it in an April 2009 Christianity Today interview. Brian McLaren, during the Washington National Cathedral’s Sunday Forum in February 2008, declared that “the Christian faith is [best] understood as a story by a postmodern generation that sees itself as part of the developing storyline,” according to the Christian Post. McLaren also went on to say that postmodern believers viewed Bible stories as part of a “bigger picture and larger story.” And finally, a close friend of mine has been challenged by Don Miller’s latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, to write a better story in her own life. A story, I can only assume, that is a small part of a bigger picture within the large framework of Christianity.

The emergent movement & postmodernism: Part II

Emergent history & definition (or lack thereof)

Now, to define the Emergent Church, as noted blogger Tim Challies says in reviewing the book Why We’re Not Emergent (By Two Guys Who Should Be):

“To borrow a tired cliche… is much like trying to nail Jello to the wall.”

Indeed. In a Google search for “emergent church” or “emerging church,” does not yield anything concrete. The terms “Emergent Church,” “emerging church,” “emergent movement,” and “emergent stream” are all used interchangeably by many people to refer to the same thing. (However, a distinction between “emergent” and “emerging” will be noted later.) One will likely stumble across someone’s attempts to define the Emergent Church, usually with a significant bias either for or against. Even the Emerging Church entry in wikipedia contains various citations for “weasel words,” vague phrasing, unverified claims, and lack of references. The Wikipedia entry complaints are actually ironic: the complaints actually perform a great job of describing the emergent movement. I don’t say that necessarily as a criticism. The founders of the emergent movement do not want it to be defined. So for the wiki entry to use weasel words and vague phrasing is the best that any writer of that wikipedia entry can do. There is no clear-cut, textbook definition.

When I speak of the Emergent Church, I refer only to the American aspect of it. (The emergent movement outside of the U.S. is long and varied.) A few core people at the foundation of this movement in the United States are Brian McLaren, Spencer Burke, Doug Pagitt, Rob Bell, Don Miller, and Mark Driscoll. (However, Driscoll has since disassociated himself and his ministry with this movement.) McLaren especially seems to be the driving figure of the Emergent Church and the community website Emergent Village, which loosely defines itself as “a growing, generative friendship among missional Christians seeking to love our world in the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”

Based on the Emergent Village About page, the emergent movement appears to have been born in the late 1990s by a group friends who felt “disillusioned and disenfranchised by the conventional ecclesial institutions of the late 20th century.” By 2001, this group of friends official declared themselves and their beliefs as “emergent.” Here’s a statement from the website explaining why the word emergent was chosen:

In English, the word “emergent” is normally an adjective meaning coming into view, arising from, occurring unexpectedly, requiring immediate action (hence its relation to “emergency”), characterized by evolutionary emergence, or crossing a boundary (as between water and air).

As intended, the Emergent Church is now a burgeoning movement within 21st century Christianity.

Unofficial buzzword: conversation

The Emergent Village site lists four buzzwords that are thrown around in its community: growing, generative, friendship, and missional. I believe it failed to list a very important fifth: conversation.

The word “conversation” is as foundational to the emergent movement as the word “triage” is to the business world. On various websites I’ve read, in an attempt to gain a better understanding of the Emergent Church, the word conversation is thrown around like water at a baptism. Leaders of the movement stress that it’s all about conversation. (Also note that the leaders of this movement do choose their words carefully.) Here’s Merriam-Webster’s definition of what a conversation is (as it relates to our current usage):

2 a (1) : oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas
(2) : an instance of such exchange : talk <a quiet conversation>
b : an informal discussion of an issue by representatives of governments, institutions, or groups
c : an exchange similar to conversation

This is exactly what the leaders of the Emergent Church want: an exchange and an informal discussion.

Back in seventh grade, I used to participate in something called “rap sessions.” The point was to air our grievances and discuss any issues weighing on our minds. But nothing was ever resolved. It was simply an outlet for talking. The emergent movement (also referred to as the “emergent stream” to represent the continuous flow of conversation), in essence, is nothing more than just a Christian rap session on a grand scale. We all have our problems with Christianity but the emergent movement allows Christians to simply engage in conversation and air their observations without ever really rectifying any issues that might be plaguing them.

The American emergent movement and postmodernism: Introduction & Part I

http://www.smallfire.org/cota_ordo.html

I’ve written a series on the American emergent movement, its brief history, its lack of definition, its connection to postmodernism, and its effect on cultural Christianity in the United States. It’s possible to read up on the emergent movement and feel like you’re spinning your tires in a ditch. I’ve tried my best to avoid that in this series and provide some kind of clarity on the subject.

I tackle a multitude of things, which may or may not become clear through this series:

  1. My experience at a postmodern/emerging worship service
  2. The Emergent Church’s history & definition (or lack thereof)
  3. The unofficial buzzword of the movement: conversation
  4. The Emergent Church’s connection to postmodern philosophy
    • Definition of modernism
    • Definition of postmodernism
    • Definition and essence of postmodern philosophy
      • Rooted in criticism and critique
      • Rooted in a shift away from superiority and toward equality
    • Discarding the label “postmodern Christianity”
  5. The identical foundations between secular postmodernism and the emergent movement
    • Criticism and critique are at the heart of each movement
    • Neither movement has a clear, determinate meaning
    • Both movements seek deconstruction in some fashion
  6. The theme of Christianity as a running narrative or an unfolding story
  7. Distinguishing between emergent and emerging (according mainly to Mark Driscoll, pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle)
  8. How the emergent movement affects my life
    • My experience reading Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis
  9. Impact of the emergent movement
    • Cultural relevancy in domestic missions
    • Expansion of faith post-legalism without it falling apart
    • Influence on Christian dress
    • Influence in Christian art
    • Its possible effect on long-term Christianity

This might as well become a Wikipedia entry in and of itself. My hopes are, however numerous or few of you, that you’ll be able to read through this series with some degree of ease in order to gain a fuller understanding of the emergent movement. My apologies in advance if I fall into emergent-speak that is at all unclear.

For the past day or two, I’ve been doing some research and reading on the Emergent Church and postmodernism. My husband, baffled by my sudden interest in the movement, asked why. I explained that the Emergent Church (which, by the way, isn’t really an institutional church, just a term assigned to the emergent movement) and its connection to postmodernism has become pervasive in Christian culture. I’ve seen it in the blogs and books I read, I see it in some cutting-edge, hip magazines, and I see it in some worship services. The emergent movement’s influence is one of those things that I’ve been able to see but have not been able to define. So, I’ve suddenly become filled with the desire to define it.

How is one able to “see” the emergent movement without being able to define it? Consider the following experience: Continue reading “The American emergent movement and postmodernism: Introduction & Part I”