Attempting to live and breathe for an audience of one
I went to a grocery store today near my mom’s house in New York that I hadn’t been to in 5 years. Everything had changed: the bank, the people, the layout, and the technology in the checkout lanes.
But in 5 years, 10 years, 50 or 100 years, God doesn’t change. He is always the same God with the same attributes and qualities. No matter what changes on earth in human time, God always stays the same.
Which, for someone who doesn’t handle change very well, is kind of nice.
Let it be known: I hate bumper stickers like that above. Mostly because I think they’re cheesy and ineffective, but sometimes it reminds me of a truth that tends to fall hollow with me.
You see, I know Jesus but I feel like I have no peace.
My head and heart are almost always spinning with busyness, noise, stress, and other things that crowd out any semblance of peace. I’m not talking external peace; I mean internal peace.
While I’ll tackle the topic of joy another day, I think joy and peace go hand-in-hand in some way. The idea of peace has always evoked an image of joy along with it (in my mind).
I’ve taken a vacation from paid work this week but still feel like I have no peace. I’m stressed. I’m nervous. I’m afraid that I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown and headed back to a psych hospital. (Maybe I need to visit once every six years to remind me how much I hate it?) I have all this spiritual static in my head that succeeds in clouding God out and making Him fuzzy around the edges.
The point of learning how to enjoy God is not that I’ll have arrived by the time I publish one of these posts but that it’s a process: I’m learning. An aspect of being able to enjoy God is also enjoying the peace that He provides.
Hopefully God will help me out in this area in 2011.
Thinking of a tweet a friend sent me a couple of days ago when I asked what was the difference between Jesus being Lord and Savior:
Savior & Lord have 2 diff meanings. I think the argument is that if you only want Jesus as Savior, but not Lord, then is he really your Savior? Is Jesus your fire insurance or is he really the Lord over your life BECAUSE he saved you from the pit?
If I’m really honest, Jesus is fire insurance. When someone is Lord over one’s life, they can also lord over it. I don’t believe Jesus is intrusive like that but somehow I need to be able to let Jesus rule over ever centimeter of my life if he wanted to. Every dark corner that hides, every bright light that shines: finances, relationships, career… give everything over to him.
Having only fire insurance sounds much better.
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:
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”
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.
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
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…”
“To lead a better life, I need my love to be here.”
I have a bunch of things I feel like writing about but they’re not topically related so here’s my mishmashed post.
Music.
I am enjoying listening to Danger Mouse’s new group, The Broken Bells. Hat tip to Derek Webb on that one.
Theology.
Up on The Resurgence blog this week:
Question 74 – Should infants, too, be baptized?
Answer – Yes. Infants as well as adults belong to God’s covenant and congregation. (Gen. 17:7; Matt. 19:14) Through Christ’s blood the redemption from sin and the Holy Spirit, who works faith, are promised to them no less than to adults. (Ps. 22:11; Is. 44:1-3; Acts 2:38, 39; 16:31) Therefore, by baptism, as sign of the covenant, they must be grafted into the Christian church and distinguished from the children of unbelievers. (Acts 10:47; I Cor. 7:14) This was done in the old covenant by circumcision (Gen. 17:9-14), in place of which baptism was instituted in the new covenant. (Col. 2: 11-13)
I seriously struggle with the idea of infant baptism also known as paedobaptism. I am a member of the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) and appreciate that I do not need to agree with the concept of paedobaptism to be a member of the covenant community. I’m not even fully convinced that I hold to covenant theology but that’s too broad of a matter to tackle within the subject of paedobaptism.
The best case I’ve seen for infant baptism has been presented by Greg Bahnsen here. But again, it’s not that I’m not open to viewing infant baptism as scriptural or that I am adamantly opposed to it per se but I find that there is a clearer Biblical case for believer’s (or as some have called it, “professor’s”) baptism.
Perhaps, however, if I fully subscribed to covenant theology and saw baptism as a replacement for circumcision, then infant baptism would make logical sense. As a Christian who previously subscribed to dispensational theology, the jump to covenant theology is not easy. (Here’s a chart for a comparison between the two. However, I did stumble upon this, and from a quick glance, it would seem like I agree more with New Covenant Theology.)
Scripture.
Relevant Magazine had an article on the most misused verse in the Bible:
Jeremiah 29:11 that says, “‘For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.”
I thought the article had great insight, especially given that as humans, we have a tendency to look at God as a vending machine: pop our prayer request in the coin slot and wait for our requested result. The author expounds on the context surrounding this oft-quoted verse which shows this verse is not telling readers that God will give us whatever we desire.
Stay-at-home dads.
Matthew Paul Turner at JesusNeedsNewPR tweeted a link to Nicole Wick’s post about Mark Driscoll who bashed stay-at-home dads.
The video is a little old but I was surprised to hear this view from Driscoll given the fact that I usually agree with him. The fact that he was only willing to make “rare exceptions” for men to stay at home to take care of the family was rather appalling to me. In this economic climate and culture, it’s possible for wives to have a better-paying and steadier job than their husbands. In that case, the right way for a husband and father to provide for his family is to let his wife bring in the necessary income for them so that he can be at home rearing the children. (We are assuming in this scenario that the parents have decided they will live off of one income so that one of the parents can be home to raise the children.) An ideal situation would be for a mom to be at home with her children (should she choose to do so) but that is not always the case and I don’t believe that it must always be the case. Driscoll is way off the mark here.
Miscellaneous.
I think there’s more a-brewin’ in my head but the words are all jumbled and I can’t get them out coherently. Some other things going on:
I’ll begin editing on my novel soon so that will be quite a challenge. (See hard copy mess in right photo.)Perhaps you didn’t care to know all that but it made me feel better to type it out.
McLaren starts out this section by—what seems to me—as apologies for God’s atrocities:
Now, I am in no way interested in excusing or defending divine smiting, genocidal conquest, or global quasi-geocidal flooding; I’m just saying that even if these are the crimes of Elohim/LORD, they are far less serious crimes than those of Theos. (p. 99)
Then McLaren starts in on explaining how God isn’t actually violent but since people see God as violent, they act out how they see God. (Conversely, if we all saw God as loving, we’d all be loving to one another.) He uses an analogy of math concepts revealed in textbooks during the course of a person’s schooling as an example of how humans understand God: at first we learn very basic concepts since we are so immature but then we learn very complex concepts because humans have matured in their understanding of God. And as icing on the cake, McLaren takes a cheap (and distasteful) potshot at Christians who eat meat, subscribe to a just-war theory, and use fossil fuels. (For someone who talks a lot about being humble and mild-mannered, his snark and disdain for Christians who think differently than him is quite apparent in this book. I’ll admit, however, I am guilty of the same toward him now.)
The more I read McLaren’s theories, the more I cringe. The God of the Bible is loving, merciful, gracious, and slow to anger. But the God of the Bible is also a just, righteous, and jealous God. He is not McLaren’s caricature of a bloodthirsty “Theos” but McLaren’s happy-go-lucky description of Elohim is neither the full picture. McLaren often attacks Christians in his book, painting them as fundamental extremists or right-wing Republicans. It’s like saying all Democrats are treehuggers. It’s tough to be open-minded to other people’s opinions or “new” ideas when they brand you with a scarlet letter just for identifying yourself with the same religious group. I am neither a fundamental extremist nor a right-wing Republican yet McLaren often makes me feel as though my view of the Bible makes me part of that group. He couldn’t be more wrong.
I’m easily getting tired of McLaren now. He worries that Christians will use the story of the flood (Noah) to justify genocide [insert eyeroll here] then comes up with this:
Yes, I find a character named God who sends a flood that destroys all humanity except for Noah’s family, but that’s trivial compared to a deity who tortures the greater part of humanity forever in infinite eternal conscious torment, three words that need to be read slowly and thoughtfully to feel their full import. (Endnote: For this reason, I would grimly prefer atheism to be true than for the Greco-Roman Theos narrative to be true. And for this reason, I joyfully celebrate the narrative centered in Jesus as a better alternative to both.) (p. 99, 272)
[insert facepalm here] The ironic thing about the “narrative centered in Jesus” was that Jesus is the one who introduced the concept of hell, or “eternal conscious torment,” as we know it today. What Bible is McLaren reading? (Is he reading one at all?) Continue reading “Food for thought #6: A New Kind of Christianity”
Not too long ago, I wrote this:
I’m excited about reading through A New Kind of Christianity. I have an open mind about this and am totally willing to transform my Christian faith and live it in a new way with only one caveat: it must remain true to the Bible. If McLaren argues something that goes against what the Bible says, I’ll point it out. We know very little about Jesus apart from the Bible. And we would know nothing about Jesus’ teachings without the Bible. So holding McLaren and his questions and responses to a Biblical standard is neither unreasonable nor unfair since he is talking about the the Christian faith.
In Part II of McLaren’s book, he attempts to address the kind of authority the Bible should have in people’s lives. Considering the Bible is the standard I’m holding him to, I wanted to see how he’d address this issue. First, he addresses how the Bible has been misused. He lists three problem areas:
1. Scientific Mess
Fundamentalism… again and again paints itself into a corner by requiring the Bible be treated as a divinely dictated science textbook providing us true information in all areas of life, including when and how the earth was created, what the shape of the earth is, what revolves around what in space, and so on. (p. 68)
He goes on to say Christians constantly end up “on the wrong side of truth” because of this and talks about how Christians who use the Bible as their scientific standard were wrong in Galileo’s time (heliocentric theory), were wrong in Darwin’s time (evolution), and are even wrong now (climate change/”ecological crisis”). [Note: In a sense, I agree with McLaren—the Bible was never designed as a science textbook and to treat it as such, I think is wrong. I believe what the Bible says on how everything was created but beyond that, the Bible doesn’t get into scientific specifics and to try to deduce things that aren’t there isn’t wise.]
2. Ethical quandaries
The Bible, when taken as an ethical rule book, offers no clear categories for many of our most significant and vexing socioethical quandaries. We find no explicit mention, for example, of abortion, capitalism, communism, socialism, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, autism, systemic racism, affirmative action, human rights, nationalism, sexual orientation, pornography, global climate change, imprisonment, extinction of species, energy efficiency, environmental sustainability, genetic engineering, space travel, and so on—not to mention nuclear weapons, biological warfare, and just-war theory. (p. 68-69)
He goes on to say that Christians have misused the Bible to support unethical positions such as segregation and preventing interracial relationships. [Note: The Bible is not a socioethical rulebook nor I do believe it is intended for that purpose. However, the Bible is very much a moral book—it gives people basic rules to live, clearly saying what should and should not be done. Moral standards influence ethical decisions, hence, why some people refuse to tell even a “white” lie (because God says “do not bear false witness”).]
3. Trouble relating to peace
Basically, McLaren paints a broad brush of Christians generally being more hawkish and too eager for war. [Note: I’d actually agree with him here.]
We must find new approaches to our sacred texts, approaches that sanely, critically, and fairly engage with honest scientific inquiry, approaches that help us derive constructive and relevant guidance in dealing with pressing personal and social problems, and approaches that lead us in the sweet pathway of peacemaking rather than the broad, deep rut of mutually assured destruction. (p. 70)
In an attempt to show how Christians have radically misused the Bible to support unethical positions, McLaren takes his readers through a historical account of slavery quoting sections of pro-slavery books defending the practice of slavery. While my heritage is not directly tied to American slavery, I found the quotes McLaren used to be painful to read. One or two passages might have sufficed to prove his point, but he devotes more than FIVE pages to pro-slavery writing—something I found needlessly excessive. Why does McLaren have to search so hard to justify his points by quoting idiots? I’m sure there were abolitionist books that quoted the Bible too but that would weaken McLaren’s argument so there’s none of that here.
Then in Chapter 8, readers discover how McLaren really views the Bible:
At every turn, we approach the biblical text as if it were an annotated code instead of what it actually is: a portable library of poems, prophecies, histories, fables, parables, letters, sage sayings, quarrels, and so on. (p. 79)
There can be no argument with McLaren here—he’s made up his mind about how he views the Bible. To him, the Bible is nothing more than a beautiful piece of literary text. He thinks that the Bible should not be seen as an inflexible constitution or rule of law but rather as “a library of culture and community.” (p. 81) Continue reading “Food for thought #5: A New Kind of Christianity”
From Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz:
A long time ago I went to a concert with my friend Rebecca. … I heard this folksinger was coming to town, and I thought she might like to see him because she was a singer too. … Between songs, though, he told a story that helped me resolve some things about God. The story was about his friend who is a Navy SEAL. He told it like it was true, so I guess it was true, although it could have been a lie.
The folksinger said his friend was performing a covert operation, freeing hostages from a building in some dark part of the world. His friend’s team flew in by helicopter, made their way to the compound and stormed into the room where the hostages had been imprisoned for months. The room, the folksinger said, was filthy and dark. The hostages were curled up in a corner, terrified. When the SEALs entered the room, they heard the gasps of the hostages. They stood at the door and called to the prisoners, telling them they were Americans. The SEALs asked the hostages to follow them, but the hostages wouldn’t. They sat there on the floor and hid their eyes in fear. They were not of healthy mind and didn’t believe their rescuers were really Americans.
The SEALs stood there, not knowing what to do. They couldn’t possibly carry everybody out. One of the SEALs, the folksinger’s friend, got an idea. He put down his weapon, took off his helmet, and curled up tightly next to the other hostages, getting so close his body was touching some of theirs. He softened the look on his face and put his arms around them. He was trying to show them he was one of them. None of the prison guards would have done this. He stayed there for a little while until some of the hostages started to look at him, finally meeting his eyes. The Navy SEAL whispered that they were American and were there to rescue them. Will you follow us? he said. The hero stood to his feet and one of the hostages did the same, then another, until all of them were willing to go. The story ends with all the hostages safe on an American aircraft carrier.
I never liked it when the preachers said we had to follow Jesus. Sometimes they would make Him sound angry. But I liked the story the folksinger told. I liked the idea of Jesus becoming man, so that we would be able to trust Him, and I like that He healed people and loved them and cared deeply about how people were feeling.
When I understood that the decision to follow Jesus was very much like the decision the hostages had to make to follow their rescuer, I knew then that I needed to decide whether or not I would follow Him. The decision was simple once I asked myself,
- Is Jesus the Son of God,
- are we being held captive in a world run by Satan, a world filled with brokenness, and
- do I believe Jesus can rescue me from this condition?
I like that story about the Navy SEAL, true or not. I like to think of Jesus as my rescuer becoming like me, crouching beside me in my brokenness, putting his arm around my shoulder, and asking me to follow Him.
I like that very much. Thank you for that illustration, Mr. Miller.
As Rebecca St. James sung about Jesus through my headphones, I spent my entire walk on a nice, sunny day lamenting about how I didn’t have someone to share it with.
How foolish.
I have a slight problem with Brian McLaren’s graph from p. 34 of A New Kind of Christianity. His graph is shown above in the picture; my revised version is shown below.
McLaren places Eden on the level of Heaven which basically equals perfection. That might bother some but it doesn’t bother me. The only difference between my graph and his is the direction of the “Hell/Damnation” arrow. While nitpicky, I have a fundamental disagreement with McLaren on this one.
From a theological perspective, what bothers me is the downward direction of the arrow. Perhaps he drew it that way because we always think of heaven as existing above and hell existing below. I redrew it to make it a continuous straight line not only because I have semi-OCD tendencies but also because the destination as a result of condemnation is hell/damnation. It’s not a downward trajectory from condemnation but rather, a continuous path that is not separate from it. According to the Bible, this is the spiritual path that all souls are on as a result of the fall (Romans 5:17-19).
I’d also like to add that I’m interested in reading McLaren’s response to the pluralism question: “How should followers of Jesus relate to people of other religions?” On page 21, he briefly summarizes what he’ll try to address:
So we ask: Is Jesus the only way? The only way to what? How can a belief in the uniqueness and universality of Christ be held without implying the religious supremacy and exclusivity of the Christian religion?
I think it’s an interesting question to posit and answer, oops, I mean “respond to.” (There are no answers according to McLaren, only responses in an effort to stimulate and continue conversation. For a great Biblical counseling perspective on this conversation, check out Bob Kellermen’s series in which he provides responses to McLaren’s questions.)
So here are my initial responses before reading the chapter in which McLaren expounds on the pluralism question:
I’m excited about reading through A New Kind of Christianity. I have an open mind about this and am totally willing to transform my Christian faith and live it in a new way with only one caveat: it must remain true to the Bible. If McLaren argues something that goes against what the Bible says, I’ll point it out. We know very little about Jesus apart from the Bible. And we would know nothing about Jesus’ teachings without the Bible. So holding McLaren and his questions and responses to a Biblical standard is neither unreasonable nor unfair since he is talking about the the Christian faith.
I hope you’ll join me in my journey through this book. If you don’t know who Brian McLaren is or what a little bit of background on what part of the Christian faith he comes from, please check out my series on the emergent movement.
People not directly involved in the emergent movement likely think that it’s something that doesn’t affect them. Not true.
The emergent movement and its connection to postmodern philosophy is having a vital effect on the way Christians and non-Christians alike think.
I, for one, find myself constantly questioning things in Christianity. I’m very open and honest about my struggles in this respect. I used to live under the veil of pretending to have it all together. I’d rather err on the side of being too broken than being too pretentious. (“A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou will not despise.” —Psalm 51:17)
Questioning one’s faith is typical within emerging Christianity. Question and reasoning can be helpful to the health of someone’s Christian life. It challenges a person’s faith and forces them to understand, reconcile, and know what he or she believes.
Where emergent Christianity takes things too far is that it can get too deconstructivist and undermine things that, as a believer, should not be undermined (eg, the deity of Christ, the necessity of his finished work on the cross). Those things should not persist as constant questions but rather, should be resolved and the topic should move on.
Emergent Christianity also tends to go in circles on questions. Those in the “conversation” contend that questions are healthy. Yes, to a point. Questions should be asked in the quest for answers. To simply throw questions out for the sake of engaging in constant conversation is ultimately fruitless because it accomplishes nothing.
Rob Bell, in Velvet Elvis, offers the Jewish culture of answering a question with a question as proof that it’s okay to go around and around with questions. I counter that answering a question with a question in Jewish culture is meant to be an end within itself. The answer (in the form of a question) is not meant to lead to endless conversation but as a way of stating a point of finality while leading the inquisitor to muse further on the answer in his or her own mind.
So when it comes to questioning things within Christianity, I have accepted this as part of postmodern and emerging thought. Where I stop, however, is that I seek answers and definitions to my questions.
Along with postmodern thought is the idea that everything is relative. This idea of relativity can be found in the emergent movement. However, within the framework of Biblical Christianity, there are absolutes. (I believe absolutes exist outside of the Bible but I’ll stick to my topic of Christianity.) Since Jesus was absolute and authoritative with many of this statements (“I am the way, the truth, and the life, no man comes to the Father except by me” —John 14:6), there is no room for relativity. Again, believers of the Bible should not be questioning whether Jesus really meant what he said. While Jesus was figurative with many of his statements, he was also very literal. To take his literal meanings, distort them, and teach those distortions as valid Christian thought is dangerous.
Please don’t misunderstand me. Most believers go through times in their lives when they questions the basics and fundamentals of Christianity. The problem is when people in leadership begin teaching these doubts, assisting in undermining Christianity in their own congregations. If a person chooses not to believe in Christianity, questions it, and tries to point out its weaknesses, that’s one thing. To do the same while claiming to be a believer and teach others to do the same is wrong.
So while I understand there are many areas in life that are full of grey, Christians should not deny that some things are plainly black and white (figuratively speaking). Emergent Christians can seek to blur the lines, giving the illusion that black and white is or can be grey.
Emerging church excels, however, in taking Christianity to the 21st century. I get frustrated when I hear Christians knocking other Christians’ choice of worship. A common complaint I’ve heard is that churches have become a type of theater: things are done with video, multimedia slides, and lighting effects. These things are dismissed as unnecessary and purposeless. I view these things as a valid and appropriate means of reaching postmodern American society. While some people may enjoy that “old time religion,” for others, it does not reach them. I am with Paul when he says “I became all things to all men that I might by all means save some.” (I Corinthians 9:22) There is nothing sinful in using video, slides, overhead projectors, and the like. Simply because it’s not a person’s style of worship doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
The argument along with that is that good gospel preaching can stand on its own and there is no need for visual anything. While that may be true, visuals are a supplement, not a replacement. I am baffled by Christians who are willing to embrace technology in every other aspect of their lives but insist on keeping it out of the church. To reach a 21st century generation, Christianity cannot continue to function in 19th century mode. It is possible to adapt to the culture without sinning in order to evangelize. This is the area where the emerging church has challenged the ecclesial institution and can help make it better. Some Christians call it becoming “worldly,” however, I see it as taking Christ’s message and making it practical and relevant.
And that’s how the emerging church challenges me: how do I make 1st century concepts and teachings from a Middle Eastern culture practical and relevant 20 centuries later in a postmodern American society? It’s a question I don’t have an answer to but hope to discover that answer someday. (Even if the answer comes in the form of a question.)
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Note: I typed this entire post on my BlackBerry so please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors.
As a product of the instant gratification generation, I want to know the answer to who I am and why I’m here NOW. The two basic questions I grapple with on a daily basis are:
And when I say daily basis, I mean, daily as in every single day. Usually the standard answer I give myself is the first Q&A from the Westminster Shorter Catechism:
What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.
I’m not sure how those in the Reformed faith applied that practically in 1646 but I’m trying to figure out what that looks like in 2010.
Does that result in a list of do’s and don’ts? There’s a call to holiness: how do I live that out? I’m called to be a Christian witness 24/7 but often feel like a practical atheist—speak of God, am interested in the things of theology but do not really talk about my faith outside of… my faith. Quite the impractical faith. But I’m not trying to get into a discussion of evangelism and witnessing right now. I’m trying to figure out how to accomplish my meaning and purpose in life by glorifying God and enjoying Him forever.
Glorifying God and enjoying Him look different for each person. We are not all the same and we are not called to be alike. While we all have the same chief end, how that plays out looks different in an individual’s life.
So in my life, what does glorifying God look like? Well, to be quite honest, I’m not so sure. As a Christian though, there are certain things I am called to:
And how do I enjoy Him? You’ve got me. I know how to enjoy His creation but enjoying Him is an entirely different matter.
This Journey Is My Own 