The clanOtto Soapbox

Heretics

2011-12-01T04:33:00.068-05:00

Great pair of quotes here at Richard Beck's site:

We muzzle dogs; shall we leave men free to open their mouths and say what they please?...God makes it plain that the false prophet is to be stoned without mercy. We are to crush beneath our heels all natural affections when his honour is at stake. The father should not spare his child, nor the husband his wife, nor the friend that friend who is dearer to him than life.
--John Calvin, Protestant Reformer and Father of Calvinism (1509-1564)

Calvin says that he is certain, and [other sects] say that they are; Calvin says that they are wrong and wishes to judge them, and so do they. Who shall be judge? What made Calvin the arbiter of all the sects, that he alone should kill? He has the Word of God and so have they. If the matter is certain, to who is it so? To Calvin? But then why does he write so many books about manifest truth?...In view of the uncertainty we must define the heretic simply as one with whom we disagree. And if then we are going to kill heretics, the logical outcome will be a war of extermination, since each is sure of himself.
--Sebastian Castellio, French theologian (1515-1563)

Obviously, the Bible doesn't encourage relativism. Coffee with Jesus cuts to the chase:

However, we do need to figure out what is really worth dying for ... or killing for. I don't want to hear Jesus tell me someday that I, like Saul, was really persecuting him. That those I thought were so wrong and treated so badly were actually closest to getting it right. So, humility in our disagreements is crucial. And a weighing of the consequences of being wrong before I say or do something "discerning," as they say. And the development of genuine respect for those with whom I disagree. Not a "respect" that pretends to agree with everyone, but one which says that everyone is valuable, and loved by God, and worthy of grace and kindness. No matter how badly we disagree. Something that won't have burned the bridges if one of us changes our mind later. Tough to do, but much better that than making enemies of those who may prove to be our own family.

Perspicuity?

2011-10-26T06:25:00.013-04:00

HT: Exploring Our Matrix

Nostalgia for White Protestant America

2011-10-21T06:49:00.183-04:00

What is our American religious foundation, and do we really want to go back? I have been thinking about this again recently, and share these reflections after reading John Armstrong's recent series [one, two, three] about religion in American public life.

America wasn't Judeo-Christian, historically. When it was religious, it was white Protestant, and anti- most everybody else. And this is what we see, for example, all the way back in the original state constitutions that required office holders to be (white Protestant male) Christians. These, and not the Declaration of Independence or the U.S. Constitution, are the actually-religious political documents from our early years. The huddled masses, Catholic, Jewish, or otherwise, were welcome to come and assimilate, or come and help build the economy, but not to share power or change the culture.
This was the same white Protestant heritage that allowed centuries of slavery, denied women equal rights (the vote, property ownership, college education, political office, equal wages, etc.), and nurtured the Ku Klux Klan. This was the reality if not totality of America's religious culture, though it was more obvious in the South, where political power wasn't shared with non-white-Protestants.
Increases in Catholic and Jewish immigration (mostly in the North) in the early 20th century led eventually to a shift away from total dominance by white Protestants and forced us to take seriously our unrealized constitutional promises about religious freedom, equality, and fair treatment under the law—first for Jews and Catholics, and then for racial minorities. More recent rights movements for other minorities, such as homosexuals, the handicapped, and the mentally ill, are the legacy of the earlier movements.
The Civil Rights movement, thus, was a revolution against white Protestant America's lock on power—though white Protestants did take part on both sides of the movement, of course. Perhaps more of them on the anti-Rights side, sadly, considering where the Bible Belt is located.
Nostalgia for or a return to our actual religious past, then, would be problematic, to say the least.

What I think we should want instead is the establishment of what our country never had—actual freedom, equality, and fair treatment for people of all religions, something only hinted at in some of the documents of the 1700s but never realized in American history. This, ultimately, will not only benefit people of other faiths, but also be for Christians' own protection and good. If our country becomes less and less moral, or Christian values become less and less popular, then we may need safeguards against "the tyranny of the majority" who disagree with us. Democracy could result in unpopular Christian decisions of conscience being declared illegal unless minority religious rights are guarded. While I agree that many or most people believe in God or want there to be a god, I still think that we Christians should view ourselves as a minority in America instead of pretending that our ways will someday (or again) become the cultural norm. Unless revival changes our nation, we may find ourselves needing strong legal protections for our minority rights, and grateful for the work that civil rights activists have done to ensure freedom for all points of view and all ways of life, even those with which we may disagree.

White male Protestants in Thomas Jefferson's day may not have needed such protections, but all Christians should lament the fact that only that group had such privilege and opportunity. Rather than wishing to see America return to the dubious morality of that era, we should take seriously the fact that neither the church nor America either is or was white, male, and Protestant.

I Haven't Read The Shack, But Apparently It's Better Than a Tract

2011-07-28T05:30:00.002-04:00

I still haven't read The Shack and don't plan to at any point soon. It has never piqued my interest, really. I did read a criticism of it the other day, however. Which made me feel a lot more favorable about the book.

My brief response to the four problem areas of Tim Challies' "charitable but critical" critique of The Shack, using his own headings:

Subversion: Apparently this guy has no awareness of how shallow many people's experience of God and the church has been. No obvious sense of humor, either.
Revelation: More of the usual criticism leveled against Blackaby's Experiencing God: The Bible is the only way God speaks. Anything else is rank mysticism. Be suspicious of people who say that God ever replies when prayed to.
Salvation: It's Calvinism or the highway. And Universal Redemption is a heresy.
Trinity: This guy doesn't want to read a novel; he wants a mimeographed copy of his favorite Bible verses. He may also approve of some Taliban policies. They take the "no graven image" command more seriously.

Based on reading this critique, this Berean watchdog "exercise in discernment and critical thinking," questions that I would want answered before I started criticizing this novel would include several along these lines:

What was the author trying to communicate?
Who was the author's intended audience?

Was the author trying to write a "4 Spiritual Laws" tract to evangelize his audience?
Was the author trying to make an argument for the Bible being superior to face-to-face conversation with God?

Challies acknowledges that the book is a novel, yet reacts as though he has missed this crucial point -- that The Shack is fiction, written to his own children and for a specific reason. It is not a textbook of systematic theology or a sermon for the hell-bent. It is not a seminary thesis or a litmus test of his credentials for the ministry. The choice of fiction allows the author to speculate about details on which the Bible is either silent or unclear. Details about what God might say -- in a dialog and in understandable language -- in response to honest questions and complaints. Like the book of Job, but in the context of pseudo-Christian America, and fleshing out other aspects of God's character. Fiction allows an author to wonder out loud some of the thoughts that a Christian might have when considering how to reconcile loyalty to the loving and just God with the classic problem of suffering and the natural feelings of disappointment, confusion, or anger that the problem leads to.

It would be ridiculous to criticize C.S. Lewis for using a talking animal as the savior and lord of Narnia. Or for having that lion let children stroke his mane. Because Lewis wasn't trying to suggest that the real Jesus is a talking animal. Or has fur. Or wants us to stroke it. Similarly, it is ridiculous to take a work of fiction about being invited to a face-to-face conversation with God, and the insights about evil and pain (theodicy, really) that would be possible in that context, and then criticize that book for not containing a suitable number of declarations that the character should leave God alone and go read his Bible for the answers to his questions, instead. Those answers that have generally left cold the people who are in real pain unless they have a loving and personal relationship with God in addition to a Bible. And maybe even then are not completely satisfying. You know, those answers about God's ways being too high to understand, for example. Or about some of us being created as objects of wrath. And what we might logically conclude about God's view of us if our miserable lives appear to be evidence that we are not among the elect.

If I read it, I would not be surprised to discover that this novel was actually an apologia on another level, arguing that belief in God's love and power is reasonable despite the reality of the fallen world we live in. Imagination in the service of worship. "Faith seeking understanding," even, in Anselm's words. Hmmm.... Maybe I will read it after all.

The Evangelical Reject List

2011-06-28T18:14:00.000-04:00

The Pangea Blog (HT Jesus Creed) has the You Might Be an Evangelical Reject If... list.

My 10 favorites (bold and italics are in the original):

You’re uncomfortable calling other branches of Christianity “apostate.”
You have significant questions about controversial theological “hot button” issues of the day and are some-what comfortable with the subsequent cognitive dissonance.
You’ve been asked to leave a church leadership position for philosophical / theological reasons.
You read theologians from all across the spectrum.
You think that science and scripture both reveal God’s truth in complementary ways.
You know that living the truth is more important than defending it logically.
You don’t use the word inerrancy to describe biblical authority because its too rigid a definition and a modernist categorical imposition on the Holy Spirit inspired Scriptures.
You think that postmodern philosophy helps theology more than it hurts it.
You believe social justice is central to the gospel of the Kingdom.
You throw up a little in your mouth every time someone says that “the rapture is coming soon, so what’s the fuss with taking care of the planet? Lets save souls!”

The Low Guilt Christian Checklist

2011-05-06T06:06:00.012-04:00

Here's an excerpt from Chaplain Mike's refreshing essay in defense of Christians who are "just Christians." Thanks InternetMonk!

It’s OK to say, “I don’t know.” Doesn’t make you less of a Christian.

Baptized as an infant? OK. Dunked in the creek as a young teen? OK.

Love to receive communion because you meet Jesus there, but have no idea how to explain it? In my opinion, that’s OK.

Because you trust in Jesus.

You know in your heart that you’re broken and need fixing.

[...]

That’s what you know, and that’s who you are.

You’re just a Christian.

And that’s OK.

I have many strong opinions about the Bible and Christianity -- and shelves of theological books. I also believe that, in the end, most of our knowledge won't have mattered much, and less will matter anymore. Means to an end, merely. Lenses by which we try to make better sense of our lives. The real issue is who we know, and who knows us.

Stories from Prison

2011-03-24T05:05:00.001-04:00

Richard Beck shares an amusing anecdote from his first night attending a Bible study at a prison:

One of the teachers was talking about the boyhood of Jesus and was commenting on how the bible says very little about the early years of Jesus. Reflecting on this, he asked the class "Why do you think the bible doesn't share much about the childhood of Jesus?"

No one answered until one man raised his hand and said, "I think it's because in the Coptic gospels Jesus appears to be a mean little boy."

Silence and a lot of confused looks followed.

I just smiled to myself and thought, "I might really like this class!"

State of the Soapbox

2011-03-24T04:55:00.001-04:00

Well, dear readers, I now have 65 posts in "draft" stage, and it has been several moons since my last published post.

"What is going on?!" you may be asking.

Basically, I have fallen out of the pattern of sitting down to write on a regular basis. As a result, the muse still strikes, but my daily habits aren't helping me to get it down fast enough and finish -- or to begin something that I suspect may take too long to finish properly. What to do? In an effort to jump start the more serious writing again, I will attempt to start sharing with y'all more of what catches my eye in my own reading.

Eventually, and sooner than later if all goes well, I will return to some topics left on the back burner, including the final installment of my series on salvation, part 2 on prayer, and a lot more on the Bible, the church, and certainty. I've also been percolating on Christian universalism, how we know what we know, and thoughts from recent discussions at church on books by Watchman Nee, Richard Blackaby, and Andrew Murray. Finally, I may share snippets or swaths of some fun e-mail exchanges and discussion threads from recent months on topics theological. So stay tuned.

Killing the Postmodernism Boogeyman

2010-10-26T03:42:00.002-04:00

John Armstrong has an excellent trio of posts [here and here and here] on the postmodernism issue and the inappropriate reaction from Christians that the word "postmodern" often triggers. He begins by responding to the common misconception that a postmodern Christian must be apostate or deluded, discarding the premise that such a Christian must "reject truth claims and moral absolutes and embrace relativism." The real misunderstanding, he continues, is that much of the American church has been co-opted by the modernist methodology for discovering and knowing truth:

Conservative Christians . . . reasoned that if you used the Bible correctly, studying the text of Holy Writ with a proper (scientific) method, then you would get the very mind of God about every thing that you could discover in this treasure house of divine (inerrant) revelation.

The problem with this approach to knowing the real truth that Christianity indeed does profess and testify to is that,

a Christian knowledge of God rests not on precise understanding or biblical equations but on personal knowing. We come to God, by the power of the Holy Spirit, based upon a personal relationship with the risen and reigning Christ. . . .

Modernity gave us confidence in our method. It told us that we could have precise understanding about every mystery that we encountered in the revelation of God. But the gospel calls us to place our total confidence in Christ, not in a system. . . . In modernity we figure something out and get hold of it. In the gospel someone gets hold of us and reveals himself to us.

Wrapping up the second post, Armstrong acknowledges the benefit that a postmodern stance can yield, and reiterates the key difference between the relationships with absolute truth that secular and Christian postmodernists can have:

The developing postmodern critique has helped more and more Christians become aware of a simple fact: God knows the truth in a way that we humans do not. The right use of postmodern suspicion is to employ it to combat the notion that we have easy access to the truth. When conservative pastors tell their people that solid exposition and Bible study will make them into mature disciples then they get very close to this danger! (This is not an attack on study and Bible exposition so read the statement carefully.)

A secular postmodernist deduces that there is no absolute truth. The reason for this is that the person has not yet met the one who is the truth in Jesus Christ. But no postmodern Christian, who knows the one who is the truth, will ever claim that there is no absolute truth since they have a personal relationship with the one who incarnates the absolute truth.

This difference is crucial. Knowing God is not the same thing as knowing about God. Our knowledge about an eternal, transcendent, and spiritual being is necessarily incomplete and likely flawed, particularly when much of it is obtained and limited by our human ability to read and interpret written text; but if this God adopts us into his family, we have access to an entirely different way of knowing him: relationship!

Cutting and Pasting the Gospel

2010-09-17T12:00:00.048-04:00

I was at a wake recently and read through a plan of salvation tract that I found there. I was amazed—not by the standard sin/hell/Jesus presentation—but by

how broadly this tract's author had to reach within the scriptures to patch together this supposedly simple gospel, and
how little each passage contributed to the final product, sometimes as few as two words from a particular verse.

Something like fifteen different books of the Bible were needed to craft this little 500-word tract, and the reader has to flip back and forth between the Old Testament and New Testament to follow it. Now, I guess that I could have felt reassured that the whole Bible points to the gospel message, or something like that, but what I found myself thinking was more troubling: If my students turned in a research paper that used source material the way this tract did, I would seriously doubt that they had gotten the correct sense or the intended context of the many, many quotation fragments they had stitched together.

Can we really not find the gospel presented succinctly in a single passage, by a single author? Isn't it odd that we can't find the typical salvation plan in the Bible without having to cut and paste it together ourselves? Peter's speech in Acts 2 is the closest thing I can think of, but I have never seen that used in salvation tracts, perhaps because it doesn't warn of hell. I'm not suggesting that Twitter and the gospel must go hand in hand. However, I would be more confident about my definition of gospel, my summary of the gospel, my interpretation of what the gospel really is if I could read it in a single passage, written by one author, and clearly in a context of summarizing the gospel. As opposed to the "I am the way" summary, which is Jesus's answer to a question NOT about the gospel is or how the masses can be saved.

What do we imply about the scriptures and ourselves when we have to do so much cutting and pasting to create the gospel we want to share? That the gospels themselves aren't clear enough? That God needs our help with packaging his good news effectively? That we really don't think most people can "handle" the Bible itself? That we don't want to take the time to develop relationships with people and present the gospel in its full context? I know I'm generally prejudiced against a lot of the tracts I've encountered over the years, but would it really be so bad if, instead of a tract, we just handed someone the whole gospel of John. "Here. Read this and then let's discuss it together. I don't want to do the gospel a disservice by oversimplifying it," we might say. I suspect such caution might be warranted, and maybe even welcomed.

Joining the Perfect Church

2010-07-13T22:58:00.000-04:00

This picture at the Jesus Creed blog reminded me of a joke I heard from a college roommate:

A man is stranded on a desert island for some time. When he is finally rescued, his rescuers tour the island and discover three small huts.

"This one is where I lived," the man replies when asked about the huts. "And that one is where I went to church."

"What about the third hut?" the rescuers ask.

"Oh," the man replies, shaking his head, "that's where I used to go to church."

Moving the Hand of God?

2010-04-29T06:05:00.010-04:00

"Prayer moves the hand of God," I have often heard, but I wonder: "Really? Is that really how it works?" Now, maybe it is one thing to make this claim in the excitement of the moment while rejoicing at answered prayer, though I would hope that the tone is not self-congratulatory or even smug. It is quite another thing to seriously contemplate a cause-effect relationship between our prayers and God's actions given a view of God as all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving; and given a view of ourselves as none of the above.

What really happens when we pray? Do we think we can speed up the unfolding of God's will? Do we think we can change the cosmic calendar? If so, is his original will before we pray not quite as loving, or flawed in some other way? Or is his original timetable perfect, as befitting his character, but he lets us sway him from that plan to a less-perfect but more-accommodating one—perhaps because he is bound by the heavenly law about prayer moving his hand? Either way, it is disturbing to imagine that we are able to make God do what he wouldn't otherwise have done, perhaps even by means of prayers that aren't all that fervent, persevering, or even important to us. Really, if it boils down to God's judgment of what is best or my own, I'll vote for God, thank you very much.

What else might we infer about prayer, if it moves God to act? Does God wait to heal a sick child until someone prays for her? Or until a critical mass of prayers is finally reached? God forbid. What happens when equal numbers of people pray opposite prayers—for victory in sports or politics, for example? Do the prayers balance and cancel? Perhaps the prayers of some people carry more weight. Does God have his favorites? Children, maybe, or the clergy? If ten people pray, is an answer twice as likely as when only five people pray? Does God not know our needs, relying on us to fill him in on the situation down here? Does he pretend to wait until we "show him that we mean it" before answering us, like a rock band quickly filing off stage to trigger the big applause before returning immediately for their obligatory "encore."

When we frame the questions in these ways, some answers seem more clear:

God doesn't or shouldn't show favoritism;
God will or should help people even if nobody, or nobody else, is praying for them;
God doesn't or shouldn't dole out mercy in proportion to the math; the same prayer prayed repeatedly or by more people shouldn't make God care about it more;
God already knows or should know what is best before anybody prays.

Despite such beliefs, however, both how we talk about prayer and how we pray are different stories: We ask for prayer. We take comfort in having multiple people praying for us. We thank people for their prayers, even claiming that we could really "feel" them. We make lists of prayer requests so we can pray repeatedly about the same thing, and so we don't lose track of these requests so trivial that they must be written down or else forgotten. We bring desperate prayers to God as though he hadn't been paying attention. We feel guilty if we forget to pray, assuming that our dropping the ball makes an answer nigh unto hopeless. We pray prayers of logical persuasion, as much to convince ourselves that God should want to answer them as to convince God to do so.

All of which suggest a theology of prayer as mechanical device, or magic box, or flowchart of proper if-then conditions. I'm not sure which is worst, but all of them share both an assumption that answered prayer is within our control and a requirement that we have to do the right thing for prayer to work: push the button, say the magic words, or jump through the hoops. If so, God does what we want; if not, it's our fault. Misinterpretation of favorite verses reinforces this error. There's the one about two or three gathering together to loose and bind in heaven and on earth, and the "blank check" classics about asking whatever we wish and asking anything in his name. No wonder we are confused about how prayer really works and overestimate the extent of our power or influence to make God give us what we want.

In his brilliant essay, The Efficacy of Prayer, C.S. Lewis rejects such a causal relationship between who we are or what we do and God's response to our prayer. Reflecting on Jesus in the garden, where his request to his father was rejected, Lewis writes:

When God becomes man, that Man, of all others, is least comforted by God, at His greatest need. There is a mystery here which, even if I had the power, I might not have the courage to explore. Meanwhile, little people like you and me, if our prayers are sometimes granted, beyond all hope and probability, had better not draw hasty conclusions to our own advantage. If we were stronger, we might be less tenderly treated. If we were braver, we might be sent, with far less help, to defend far more desperate posts in the great battle.

How then might we better understand prayer? Look for Part 2.

What Jesus Never Said about Hell

2010-04-18T01:53:00.002-04:00

I grew up in the church tradition where "narrow is the way" to heaven and "few there be that find it." To put it more accurately, I grew up in church circles dominated by a view that the vast majority of human beings, perhaps more than 99% of the world, will wind up in hell for not "responding to the gospel." This view is presented as Biblical, seen as a significant part of any sermon about the gospel, and used as a key motivation for missions and evangelism. Though Jesus supposedly said more about hell than about heaven, most references to hell are contained in a rather meager handful of "red letter" verses from the mouth of Jesus himself. And despite what he does say about hell, there are some very interesting statements that he does not make—if hell was as important to Jesus as we make it out to be today.

Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, for example, has lots of useful information about how to pray, give to the needy, and fast, along with admonitions not to worry and not to store up treasure on earth. All of which is fascinating and good, but completely irrelevant if the audience is going to wind up in hell. However, he does not couch these useful tidbits with a preface like, "Most of y'all are going to hell, but until you do, here's some advice about your personal finances for your days here on earth," or, "We both know you're going to hell, but let's talk about something else today." If this passage is one of Jesus' most significant messages, as many people believe, then why does Jesus say nothing about eternal punishment for most—to the multitude sitting right there at his feet? Or was he only addressing the few who would wind up in heaven and ignoring the lost causes?

We have no record of Jesus warning the woman at the well about hell, despite her string of relationship misadventures. We have no record of Jesus souring his friendships with tax collectors and winebibbers at all those dinner parties by insisting on changing the topic to God's dissatisfaction with their sinful lives and their pending damnation. No warnings about hell to the other thief on the cross. No intimate pleading with Mary and Martha, or with his own family members, for that matter, about their need to wait until after his death and resurrection and then to be "washed in the blood," lest they burn in eternal fire. Sinners, friends, strangers, or family members; all appear to be spared hearing from the lips of the savior himself the gospel message of salvation from hell.

Now, arguments from silence are problematic. Perhaps Jesus constantly hammered people about hell but the gospel writers glossed over that fact, choosing instead to share with us Jesus' many parables of the kingdom and assorted comments on other topics. But it is curious that we find no Jesus theme of "Repent, ye sinners, or I'll throw ye into hell for rejecting me!" anywhere in the gospels. Very curious, indeed. In Matthew 4:17, we read that Jesus began preaching "Repent," but nothing about hell. In a few other verses, he does warn about hell—or warn about two different words that in some translations of the Bible are sometimes translated "hell" but that maybe don't mean the "hell" that we assume today, to be more technically accurate. But these warnings are sometimes in parables, where literal, factual truth may be neither required nor assumed; mainly concern punishment for sins rather than for not being born again; and are primarily directed at religious leaders and others who thought they were already saved. The fact of the unwashed masses going to hell doesn't seem to matter so much, though God so loved the world.

If hell is the overriding concern, and the reason he came to die on a cross, then why didn't Jesus say that? Why substitute temporal trivia, really, for crucial warnings about the paramount disaster of eternal damnation for billions of souls? Why so many, very inclusive "your father in heaven" statements to the crowds he addressed, as though the audience was already in the family of God? Was Jesus just sharing facts about a precious few other somebodies with the throngs of hell bound listeners, or did he mean that they were the blessed, and destined for heaven?

Now, maybe hell wasn't the point that the gospel writers wanted to stress in their portrayal of Jesus' message. That is possible. But maybe someone else created the "fear of hell" bandwagon, and Jesus never intended for anyone to ride on it. Maybe he never desired the gospel to be shrouded in "Turn or burn" rhetoric. Maybe, just maybe, he had other, more hopeful plans for the billions of people he came to die for, those who we preach are eternally trapped in the fires of hell.

More on this later.

Gracious Disagreement

2010-04-14T06:53:00.001-04:00

Here's a lovely little video clip of Dr. Greg Boyd on historic diversity within the church on the "negotiables." This is one of several intriguing video tidbits from the BioLogos Foundation, a site well worth exploring for a scientific Christian perspective on science, the Bible, and Christianity.

"Having to wrestle with diverse opinions and perspectives is hardly a new thing in the church. Unfortunately, we've lost some of that: the ability to be gracious with disagreements, especially among conservative Protestants throughout the twentieth century."

I'm not convinced this is unique to 20th century Protestants, but I like the use of "gracious" in this context and agree that its absence makes us look "ugly." Can we disagree but remain gracious in our disagreements?

Loved by God, But No Billy Graham

2010-03-19T06:12:00.004-04:00

I have no problem with opinions, as a concept. No surprise, coming from someone with the word "Soapbox" in the title of their blog, eh? I believe that those with a large following, those who influence many, or those whose followers lack, shall we say, sophistication and critical thinking should be particularly careful about what opinions they express publicly, however. If you watch this video, you'll probably agree with me that some of those in the crowd appear to be easily swayed by a fancy blue suit, a little background organ, a little choral repetition, and a little bravado when criticizing their brothers and sisters in Christ. I suspect that these are some of the little sheep, dear to Jesus, whose deception and abuse will lead to some serious judgment on the wolves among us.

Here are a couple quotes from this video that I found interesting and/or especially troubling:

1. Criticizing seeker-sensitive pastors, Hinn declares that, "The seeker-sensitive move in America is destroying America, people. [...] Those seeker-friendly churches are not of God." I wonder: Are these churches worse than, say, the real-and-of-God church in Corinth? The church in Sardis? How sure should one be about making a statement like this? I thought it was the devil's job to accuse the brethren.

2. Continuing with his attack, Hinn adds, "They worry more about crowds than getting souls into heaven." What I find interesting here is Hinn's likely assumption about these human pastors' ability to get souls into heaven. We can get souls into heaven? Really? More interesting, what if we mere mortals don't perform some work of evangelism, of preaching the true gospel? A gospel that Hinn actually articulates fairly well toward the end of this clip, by the way. Are we responsible for people who don't go to heaven? Is it our fault? More on this later.

3. "Any pastor who is ashamed to say 'Jesus' is because [sic] he is demon-possessed, that's why. [...] If you are afraid to say 'Jesus," there's a devil inside of you." Really? Hmmmm. Can anyone say, "filter"?

And is it just me, or does the blue suit remind anyone else of Captain Kangaroo?

Ah, Benny, my opinionated brother.... May you grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. May we all.

Hearing and Teaching the Real Bible

2010-03-01T17:45:00.015-05:00

Here's a great quote by Frederick Buechner, from the opening lines of "The Magnificent Defeat" in Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons:

When a minister reads out of the Bible, I am sure that at least nine times out of ten the people who happen to be listening at all hear not what is really being said but only what they expect to hear read. And I think that what most people expect to hear read from the Bible is an edifying story, an uplifting thought, a moral lesson—something elevating, obvious, and boring. So that is exactly what very often they do hear. Only that is too bad because if you really listen—and maybe you have to forget that it is the Bible being read and a minister who is reading it—there is no telling what you might hear.

What do we expect to hear in the Bible? Tales of moral heroes? Seven Keys to a successful spiritual life? Or passages that say only what we already think they say? More than that, I hope.

More troubling is the question of what to do when we can't make sense of the Bible, or when a "plain reading" of the text contradicts what we expected to find. Move on to something else? Ignore the differences? Harmonize everything into a nonsensical porridge? Run to the footnotes, as we would the solution to a crossword puzzle beyond our ability, and rest in the arms of whoever wrote the ~~opinions~~ commentary we find there?

Our experiences with the Bible from earliest childhood shape our response to both these questions. If Bible "training" in Sunday School consists of Quiz Bowl drills and fill-in-the-blank responses, then confusion when we try to read the Bible for ourselves should be a too-familiar occurrence, a sort of purgatory in which we must patiently wait until someone more spiritually gifted delivers the unintuitive-but-correct-somehow explanation; and a view of the Scriptures as an unappealing blend of Dick and Jane stories, fortune cookie wisdom, and esoteric riddles would be the natural result of our experience. And if Bible study for adults resembles the kiddie version.... No wonder we sound like the Israelites when they insisted they would much prefer God speak only to Moses. Why try to read the Bible when the pastor is so much better at it? Why bother raising your hand when you're probably wrong? Spiritual pablum goes down easier when it's all we've ever had.

At what age are children in most churches told that parts of the Bible are actually ambiguous, even to the "initiate," or that it doesn't provide satisfactory answers to some very serious questions, or that equally-saved Christians interpret some of the same passages in very different ways—and what those differences are, and how this could happen if we all read the same Bible and have the same Spirit? At what age are they told that the Bible has any purpose beyond "right answers" and that they are allowed to question? I suspect that the age is somewhere between "after finishing Sunday School" and "never."

But why? What do we gain by creating the illusion of a uniform and perfect interpretation for every verse in the Bible, and suggesting that only our people have it figured out, and ignoring the reality of normal and even healthy diversity within the church, and treating the Bible like a magical dictionary or cookbook to be consulted from time to time? Other than a convenient script and a Quiz Bowl answer key for the harried volunteer in the classroom, that is.

I know what we lose when we engage in this perhaps unintentional mythologizing, when the children figure out that their church is sending them off to college or the workplace "equipped" with a grab bag of Bible trivia, Chick tract theology, straw man scientific arguments, and prejudice against those who don't believe exactly as we do: credibility. We appear gullible and ignorant, if not dishonest and biased. We lose the right to be heard when they have real questions about faith, or when they discover the rest of the Body of Christ. And as a result, and even if we do manage to keep them until they finish high school, the church loses most of its next generation.

We need to do better. We need to be honest about the Bible, the church, and our faith. Messy and complex though they may be, that is what the Lord has given and left for us. Do we doubt that he knew what he was doing? Do we really think he needed us to tidy up his mess and package things better for the little ones? O we of little faith.... Suffer the children. Let them come!

Noah Webster & God

2010-02-17T21:51:00.026-05:00

[Salvation #6]

Having established that salvation may be knowable, even when we are unable to clearly define salvation or unable to agree upon such a definition, we turn to the question of why we have been left to write our own definition. If our own definition writing requires that we wade in the oft-murky waters of scripture interpretation, then why has God failed to clearly provide such crucial information? Why didn't God just give us a dictionary if he knew the mess we would make of this? Why did he give us the Bible, filled with poetry, riddles, proverbs, songs, correspondence, code, and lots and lots of stories and parables, instead? Understand that these are types of writing not normally used to dictate precise definitions, or genres from which we expect to extract them. And why use Hebrew of all languages for the majority of this, a language known for its ambiguity?

Maybe neat, theological definitions don't exist. Maybe God isn't at all eager to spoon-feed them to us if they do. Maybe they are as nonsensical as mathematical equations written to explain color. Maybe God is less interested in developing our knowledge than our character, our humility, or our relationship with him. Maybe God knows that definitions create the illusion of mastery, certainty, and control; and maybe he is less interested in being defined or understood than being known, obeyed, and loved.

What definition of "God" do we find in Scripture, for that matter, and shouldn't that be even more important than understanding salvation? "God is love;" "God is spirit;" "God is a consuming fire;" "God is light." How's that for a single and clear definition of what God is? And what about Jesus? How eager was he to give key definitions? The gospels record his question, "What shall we say the kingdom of God is like?" and multiple different answers—yeast, a farmer, a landlord, seeds, etc.—but no instances of "What is the exact definition of God's kingdom?" Really, if he wanted to communicate definitions, he picked an odd way to do it.

The obvious answer is that God's purpose, both for his inspiration of the Scriptures and in his glorious performance on the stage of history, was not and has never been to give us definitions, or to satisfy our desire for propositional certainty. Or, as Karl Barth reportedly said, "Jesus does not give recipes that show the way to God. [...] He is Himself the way." His purpose is that we might come to know the guide himself, rather than a map. As a result, much of our theological definition writing distracts us from God's real message and intent. And, perhaps, is as misguided and inappropriate as reading love poems for a technical understanding of how the heart works. To put it another way, the point and priority of neither God nor the Scriptures is to give us a definition of salvation that we can memorize, recite, and stick on our bumpers.

Noah Webster's contribution to the English-speaking world was a book of words and definitions. What God the Father has given to all of us instead is Jesus, the Word of God. He has spoken to us directly through his Son, that we might know him. And this is eternal life. This is salvation.

Ecumenical Catechism: DOA?

2010-02-11T17:00:00.005-05:00

John Armstrong's comments on and quotations of conservative Catholic opposition to Cardinal Kasper's call for an ecumenical catechism should come as no surprise to anyone, and suggest a few questions for our exploration. And I had to use the same photo of Cardinal K with Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew -- both to show off the patriarch's cool head covering and to work in the phrase, "Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew." Now there's a title worthy of a nameplate on the desk!

In celebration of the time-honored catechism format, then, let's begin with the first question:

Q.1: Why should nobody be surprised by opposition to Christian unity?
A: Because ecumenism is technically defined by many as, "a Satanic compromise with those who lack our spiritual correctness and perfection" or perhaps, "proof that the Antichrist has already begun his diabolical work in the church." And, as Armstrong notes,

Sadly, this spirit is not limited to Protestants or Catholics. Only the grace of God and the fresh breeze of the Holy Spirit will alter people who fear so deeply loving and respecting those who are not in our communion.

Q.2: Why would it be so difficult to accept an ecumenical catechism? Is there really so little scriptural support for basic doctrines that all of Christiandom could agree on?
A: I believe that there is sufficient support, though the very question reveals my Protestant bias in favor of the written scriptures and ignores the reality of church tradition's role in all our denominations. However, such a project could quickly become a political wrangle in which questions of "What scriptures?" and "What doctrines?" reveal the root issues of "Who has the power to force this decision upon the rest of us?" and "By what authority do you do these things?" Questions of power and authority, while critical to all of us, are threatening to many.

Moreover, changes to or sacrifices from our own self-defining lists of beliefs, necessary for the creation of a shared catechism of essentials, could call into question the validity of our own "second tier" beliefs, and the validity of our self-definition, as a result. Leave out dispensationalism? Baptism by immersion only? Transubstantiation? Without that, there would be no difference between us and ... that church down the road! Better to draw our own lines in the sand and cherish the golden calves that pop out of the fire of our disobedience than do the hard work of love, of keeping the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace -- with our own brothers and sisters for whom Christ died, mind you.

As for me and mine, our local church uses no formal creed or catechism, so we have been working our way though the Westminster Shorter Catechism at home. All of us have gained from discussing the questions, the answers, and our disagreements with some of the answers. Perhaps even more importantly, we have had the opportunity to start the broader conversation with our kids about how we know anything, why we believe what we do, and what to do with the inevitable disagreements we have with those we love.

Q.3: Could an ecumenical catechism include questions about why faithful Christians disagree with each other on matters of doctrine, exactly how disappointed Jesus is with us about that, and whether our diversity heralds the arrival of the beast? And could such a catechism help us learn to live with one another in humility and obedience as the body of Christ?
A: Hmmmm.... Perhaps I'll write that catechism myself.

I Wish We'd All Been Ready

2010-02-10T07:00:00.022-05:00

For those of you who missed it, the rapture has already taken place, and, according to the Lark News story, "took both people on the planet whose theology was exactly correct."

What I'm looking forward to is the scene at the pearly gates -- the one where, from time to time, we'll see the arrival of those from the one denomination that actually had all their doctrines correct. I can almost hear the hearty congratulations that Jesus will lavish upon them. As for the rest of us ... "saved, but only as one escaping through the flames," at least we'll finally know who gets the prize for being right. So, we'll have that satisfaction to soften the disappointment of our Lord.

How does that saying go, the one about wishing on their deathbed that they'd invested more time in their careers? How many of us will meet Jesus and wish we'd spent more time polishing our doctrinal idols?

Nanga Sadhu

2010-02-05T07:15:00.001-05:00

I saw this photo today and was inspired to begin a new category of fascinating and thought-provoking content here on the Soapbox: Awesome Facial Hair! Click here for the full-sized image, part of a Big Picture series called Colorful India. Enjoy.

Is My Bible Scripture?

2010-01-30T00:19:00.004-05:00

Someone dear to me once asked me whether I believe that the Bible I read is scripture. Thinking about this deliciously stimulating question, I realize the wide range of possible meanings these terms have, and the need to clarify and specify what is meant before I can say "Yes" or "No" and hope to be understood properly—and avoid being branded a heretic.

By "Bible" do we mean English translations of the Bible? We might, but not necessarily. As I have written elsewhere, I would prefer to call them so, rather than lump together all editions of all translations in all languages with the original Scriptures in their original languages, for
Are translations of anything "the same as" the original? No. By definition, they are not. No scholar of French poetry, for example, would be content to study translations, and for good reason: There is no substitute for reading the actual words in the actual language with all of its nuance, connotation, historical context, rhythms, word play, and all else that makes language what it is.
Does "Bible I read" mean "translations other than the one true translation," or "any translation"?
And would I call my Bible(s) "scripture," meaning

"sacred writings"? If I understood exactly what that phrase meant, I might say so.
"the specific sacred writings that the Holy Spirit inspired the writers of the Bible to pen"? No, since what is available to me is impressive but translated products of textual criticism, rather than the original thing.
or "equal to those specific sacred writings"? Equal in some ways more than others, but perhaps.
or "an equally inspired translation into a different language"? Definitely not.
or "written documents that transmit God's intended message to us"? In a sense, yes.
or "written documents through which the Holy Spirit can speak his intended message"? Yes, I do believe this.

And what does the original question presume about how reading works?
And presume about how God can or does speak through text in any language or perhaps in one uniquely special language?
And presume about what God intends the Bible's function to be—now or in various hypothetical dispensations?
And are we presuming that there is a critical mass of "scripture" that we must have among the pages of what we hold for its function to be fulfilled? What would it be?

100%?
99%?
80%?

And, if so, what do we presume about the result of reading less than that percentage of true scripture?

Total error?
Significant, life-changing error?
Sin?
That we are now reading the words of Satan?
The failure of God's plans in the world?
The failure of God's intended purpose for the Bible?

So, what do I believe about the Bible?

I believe that the English translations of the Bible that I read are significantly and even divinely different from all other books, even if I am not sure that, as translations, they are fully and equally "scripture" in the way that the original Bible is.
I believe that, at this point in history, I am blessed to have the luxury of comparing several good translations that merit not only my confidence in the text but also my awe at God's provision.
I believe that, like copies of any original document, there are some real differences among them, and also differences between them and "the original Bible" written down in days of yore.
I believe, however, that the differences, or any outright errors in the human words I read, are not sufficiently powerful to keep me from hearing the "'Yes!' of God in Christ" through these translations as the Holy Spirit aids my reading of them.
I believe that God is greater, and is able to overcome whatever I may lack.

I believe many other things about the Bible, too, but you can read my other posts to discover more of those.

New Improved "God Said It" T-Shirt

2010-01-29T06:40:00.004-05:00

As well-meaning as people may be when they boldly proclaim it on their bumpers, the "God said it / I believe it / That settles it" triptych leaves much to be desired as far as guidance for actual Christian life. For a more honest and humble T-shirt slogan, look no farther!

I won't spoil the punchline here, but the middle section begins with "I interpreted it."

Buy yours today!

Do We Know What Jesus Knew?

2009-12-17T07:33:00.005-05:00

The Internet Monk posted an interesting list of questions about Jesus' knowledge. And it's followed by about thirty pages of comments about what the answers mean to our understanding of the God/man incarnation.

Some of my favorites:

3. Did Jesus miss any questions on the test? Did he have to study?
4. Did Jesus use tools to measure in his carpentry work? Or did he just know what to do?
8. Were Jesus questions real questions? Or were they all rhetorical?
9. If Jesus did not have exhaustive divine knowledge as a human being, does this impact our view of him as God incarnate?

Or, in the words of Relient K's lovely Christmas tune, I Celebrate the Day:

And the first time that you opened your eyes
Did you realize that you would be my savior?
And the first breath that left your lips
Did you know that it would change this world forever?

Yet another example where language, story, and theology collide, hinting that the certainty of our formulations might just be more easily said than realized. It is one thing to affirm, in the words of the Athanasian Creed, that Jesus was "fully God, fully man," but what does this mean, practically speaking? That he always won games of chance? That the other kids as he was growing up stopped including him in riddles and jokes because he already knew the punchlines? Or that there is something about the nature of Jesus' omniscience that we haven't fully comprehended?

The faith of the Christian rests on the clear statements of Scripture alone even when we are not able to rationalize them.

The "clear statements," as opposed to the not-so-clear statements that the Bible also contains. There are some things that we just don't know—even if we read the Bible. We can speculate, opine, and argue, but we really don't know, at least in a way that we can articulate with words. As A.W. Tozer said, "Truth lies deeper than the theological statement of it" (That Incredible Christian). And that's OK, for we are known, and loved. And I'll take that over my own knowing any day.

Explaining Our Differences

2009-12-08T07:02:00.004-05:00

[Salvation #5]

Now, we could conclude from the church's differences on salvation that we really don't know what it is, or really don't get it, or really don't have it, even. And that, therefore, we really don't have any basis for communion, for community, or for witness. We could conclude that perhaps we really aren't Christ's body. Or that most of us aren't part of it, anyway. We could conclude that salvation is unknowable, or even fictional.

Another, less-troubling explanation for why we have different definitions of salvation is that we have allowed our focus to drift from knowing or experiencing salvation to defining salvation, to reducing something amazing and miraculous into words of a particular language. Perhaps we do understand what salvation is, but just have trouble explaining it—in words, at least. Which isn't the only way to explain something, to be fair. Some words have very broad definitions; other defy easy pigeonholing. We might have similar difficulties when defining other words, such as hero, art, America, or beauty. We might have similar difficulty explaining in words how much we love someone.

Language is a very tricky thing. Some languages are much better at expressing certain kinds of ideas. Some languages make certain tasks much harder to accomplish, like explaining whether an event is past, present, or future, for example. Some languages cause more airplane crashes. Different languages perhaps can even create different types of thought and can shape different views of reality. If God's thoughts are higher than our thoughts, can we really expect that each of our human languages fully expresses God's thoughts, or that our words can fully define the wonders of salvation?

God's gift to us was not a dictionary. Therefore, we've written most theological definitions by ourselves. And some of these come from attempts to harmonize numerous verses of Scripture, written by numerous authors, over the course of more than a millennium, in three languages, in various genres from poetry to history to apocalyptic literature, and often with cultural, historical, and literary context that has been lost to most of us over the last 3,000 years. Is it any wonder that we might inadvertently add at least a little of our own interpretation to the original meaning in the Bible when we construct our clever definitions, when we create what the Bible itself has failed to give us?

And interpretation is a problem.

Next stop: Why didn't God give us a dictionary?

Behold the Lamb of God

2009-12-04T07:09:00.006-05:00

If you haven't heard Andrew Peterson and friends perform Behold the Lamb of God, then you're missing a Christmasy musical treat. Buy It Now! And join me in looking forward to one of their ensemble concerts if you ever get the chance.

Here is AP's telling of the tale of its writing. And here's my favorite part:

I was compelled to tell Jesus’ story with the gifts he gave me–the biggest of those not being my songwriting at all but the community of the Kingdom itself. And telling that story hundreds of times has changed me. I love the Gospel more for it. If you’ve been to one of these concerts you know I can hardly make it through a night without a lump forming in my throat (something that makes my voice go terribly flat). It usually happens when I look out in the audience and see someone with tears on their cheeks, and I realize that, by God, that dream I had ten years ago has come true: the story connects. The Spirit moves. The apostle says in John 20:31, “But these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” However the songs were written, I remember well the reason for the writing, and that was so that men, women, and children would believe that the stories are true, and that by believing they would find life in Jesus’ name.

Harmonize Or Read Mystically?

2009-12-03T12:59:00.004-05:00

David Opderbeck's comment about 3rd century Origen and how to read the apparent discrepancies in the gospels is well put:

We can see how great pre-modern Christian thinkers wrestled with concerns that continue to confront us in Biblical studies today, and we can see that what are sometimes criticized as post-modern approaches in fact are rooted deeply in the Tradition.

Check out the full quote by Origen, which includes the phrase, "anagogically, (by mystical interpretation)," at Euangelion. Tasty!

Jesus, Satan, and Bible Kryptonite

2009-09-22T18:04:00.005-04:00

"Jesus defeated the devil with the Word of God." This commonly heard saying refers to Jesus' temptation by Satan in the parallel passages of Luke 4 and Matthew 4. Is this adage correct, however, and what is usually meant by those who say it? Using the terminology of the OIA method, we can analyze this statement and note the range of interpretations (I) and applications (A) that are assumed or implied by it:

1. The devil was defeated (I)
2. Scripture (not Jesus?) defeated the devil (I)
3. The devil would have / might have been victorious if Jesus hadn't quoted the Scripture (I)
4. The devil did not decide to leave, or choose to leave, or agree to leave Jesus, but was powerless to resist the Bible quotations (I)

And therefore:

1. We can use scriptures to defeat the devil, just as Jesus did (A)
2. Scripture should be our primary weapon against the devil (A) —or perhaps—
3. Scripture is our only weapon against the devil (A)

Backing up however, we should also note some facts or observations (O) about this story:

1. Jesus quoted some Bible verses to the devil (O)
2. The devil "left him" (Matthew 4:11, Luke 4:13) (O)

The devil left him. The question is whether it was because of the Scripture quoting. This is a possible case of the Correlation / Causation error.

Two nearby events can but don't always mean that one caused the other.

If we were to spend more time in the Observation stage of our reading, and if we held back the urge to jump to the "obvious" conclusions, then we should also notice the following:

3. The devil did not immediately disappear after hearing the first scripture (O)
4. The devil did not eventually leave after the first instance of Jesus quoting the Scripture, either (O)
5. The devil still hadn't been driven off after the second scripture (O)
6. The devil himself knew and quoted the Scripture (O)
7. The devil quoted the Scripture, seemingly without harming himself (O)
8. Jesus (in Matthew's account) eventually added some other words to a third scripture (O)
9. Those words were "Away from me, Satan," by the way (O)
10. After the third Scripture quote, and (in Matthew) the command to leave, the devil left (O)
11. In Luke's gospel, the devil left—not "driven off by the scriptures," but when he "had finished all this tempting" (O)
12. In both accounts, the verb used is translated as "left" or "departed," rather than "fled" or "retreated."

So, when we try to interpret and apply this story, we have several questions to ponder. If scriptures have the power to drive away the devil, why did it take three tries? Wasn't the Scripture powerful enough? Wasn't Jesus powerful enough? Wasn't scripture in the mouth of Jesus powerful enough? And what does this mean for us?

Now, is the Bible important? And relevant when facing temptation? I believe so, from experience, and from Jesus' example. But is the Bible the devil's Kryptonite? I don't think the two versions of our gospel story support such a conclusion, and I'm wary of creating a doctrine out of a single episode in the Bible. Especially a doctrine that trivializes the Scriptures by reducing them to magical incantations and charms to ward off Satan or his minions. "The devil is a better theologian than any of us," A.W. Tozer cautions, "and is a devil still." He already knows the Bible—and in the original languages, I'll wager.

Could Jesus have defeated the devil without the Scripture? I would hope so. Are we powerless without Bible verses? Is that the source of all power we have? I would hope not. How about you?

The OIA Method of Studying the Bible

2009-09-21T00:42:00.005-04:00

There are many ways to study the Scriptures. Supposedly, Watchman Nee used "twenty different methods," though I haven't seen a list.

A simple but helpful technique that any of us can use has been called the OIA Method: Observe, Interpret, Apply. Studying the Bible this way is also referred to as "inductive," study because the goal is to read more like a detective, drawing careful conclusions from the particulars of a specific text, rather than making vague claims based on a mishmash of memories of various passages or simply rehearsing prior knowledge or opinion about the text at hand.

Step 1 (Observe): Observe what the passage appears to say to its original audience.
Step 2 (Interpret): Interpret your observations. What do they seem to mean or imply in the context?
Step 3 (Apply): Apply the interpretations to your own life or to the modern day.

One strength of OIA for believers or others more familiar with the Bible's common interpretations is that we are more likely to strip away some of the baggage of prior interpretation that so easily entangles, and to better hear what the scriptures are saying. When successful, we are freed from some of the filtering lenses that we all have received from our own cultures, families, and church traditions, and which color, alter, and delete what our senses take in.

A second strength of this method is that it helps us read a text more like a newcomer to the passage or to the faith would, to find common ground for discussion of scripture with those who are curious, and to see the obstacles to understanding that a particular passage presents.

Much could be said about the details of the OIA method, but here are a handful of keys that I have benefitted from in my own study of the Bible.

Keys to Observation:

Temporarily set aside previous understanding of the passage. Try to read with "fresh eyes."
Make a list of everything you notice. Don't evaluate or filter your observations yet.
Include what the passage does not say, in contrast to what it does say.
Be patient. Don't jump to the "what this means" step.
Record your questions. Questions don't mean failure. Far from it, when approaching an ancient text from another culture. They might just mean that you're now actually paying attention, finally able to see something that you never saw before.
Note what surprises you, or what you expected to find.

Keys to Interpretation:

Fight the urge to trot out a familiar interpretation. Ask whether the observations actually lead you to such a conclusion.
Be willing to wait for more evidence. Don't panic, thinking that you must know the meaning, or thinking that a real believer or a smarter reader would surely be able to figure everything out immediately.
Ponder what your observations might have meant to the original audience in the original time, language, and culture. Obviously, this is difficult to know with certainty, but think about it. And consider becoming more educated on this critical topic.
Ask why these facts were included in the passage and others weren't.
Keep your focus tight. Don't jump around among other passages that you think might be related, or that you have always heard discussed alongside this one. Be particularly careful of parallel passages in the gospels. Your immediate goal should be to understand what the author was driving at, not just to create harmonized timelines or similar distractions.
Be willing to entertain interpretations that are novel, problematic, or even "heretical." These will energize your quest for better understanding.

Keys to Application:

Realize that application doesn't have to be universal. "What does the passage mean to me?" is a valid question.
Look for similarities between the characters in the passage and yourself.
Ask how you are similar to the original audience and how you are different from them.
Question the assumption of superiority for your modern context. Maybe this ancient text should speak to your life, too.
Decide what points are still not clear to you, and move on to the next section of the book. Extended context often sheds more light.
Pray for understanding, wisdom, and patience. Before, as, and after you read.

Frankly, much of this list applies to critical reading of any text and to reaping personal profit from reading—to being changed by it. And really, isn't that the point of worthwhile reading?

Those Who Oppose Our Message

2009-09-05T23:35:00.011-04:00

[Salvation #4]

So, we're confronted with the possibility that we're blundering through life without a clear understanding of the gospel. And the apparent fact that we, "the saved," disagree on almost every aspect of what salvation is and what one has to do to be saved. We nod our heads and say the lost must be born again, but we have very different ideas about what that phrase means, how it works, or what it has to look like.

No surprise that this causes some heavy-duty cognitive dissonance—when many of us grew up with the gospel neatly packaged and delivered to us with a fistful of cliches about how simple the gospel is. But the bigger problem with our disagreement may be what it tempts us to believe about or do to those who disagree with us, though they are our brothers and sisters, our family, the church.

Let us be clear: disagreement coming from those in our own faith community, from those we thought we didn't have to persuade or defend against, can be very threatening. Especially when our criterion for being in community turns out to be the very point of controversy. If I can't convince you, might that mean my claims are weak? If you don't agree with me, might I be wrong? And if those in the church don't agree, why would we expect anyone else to believe our message?

Confused or threatened by our differences, our first instinct is often to question. Weren't we on the same side? Aren't we children of the same heavenly Father? Our hurt and puzzlement are understandable, perhaps. Disagreement, difference even, is the opposite of what causes community in the first place. Especially, as in the case of the church, when our solidarity is defined in stark absolutes: heaven and hell, the lost and the found, the redeemed and the damned. Especially when the stakes are life and death, and the consequences eternal.

The speed with which we move from confusion to suspicion, however, is much more problematic. If we disagree, his faith must be weak, we reason. If we differ, she must not take the Bible as seriously as the rest of us. We bolster our own rightness at the expense of the other. Our fear of being wrong and our need to justify at all costs are sad but all too predictable. I in the middle, again. The sin thing. Rather than preferring the other, always trusting and always believing the best, we entertain doubts about motives, allegiance, or even spiritual maturity. They probably aren't even saved. That would explain everything. Such ultimate accusations reveal how far we will go to justify our own position; how readily we will sell our own kin down the river to discredit their views and vouchsafe our own beliefs; how willing we are even to sacrifice relationships, rather than give up what we hold dearer than love and loyalty.

Difference leads to disappointment, suspicion, and, perhaps, eventual betrayal on our part. Which—far from apologizing for—we defend as our right. As though we founded the club and wrote its membership rules. How great our disappointment in those who should have seen the reasonableness of our wisdom. How great the offense of those who, if they were really saved, should have known better. As though, even worse than letting us down, they have actually sinned against us by not agreeing with all of our cherished convictions, our self-defining opinions, and our precious, precious preferences.

Faithful Questioning

2009-08-06T06:00:00.003-04:00

Some humorous and some meaty quotes on asking questions and Christian scholarship, from James K.A. Smith in his interview at the often-excellent Through a Glass Darkly blog:

The tipping point was a sermon I preached entitled "Trivial Pursuits: Or, Things That Bother Us that Don’t Bother Jesus."

I also have some letters in my files from my former Bible college professors in which they describe me as a "student of Judas Iscariot."

I guess I would be hesitant to set up these two different worlds–the "questioning" world of Christian scholarship and the "confessing" world of the church. I think there’s inseparable intermingling here. Or let me put it this way: every question is its own kind of confession. Even our questions are articulated from somewhere, on the basis of something–however tenuous. And some of our best confessions are questions: Why, O Lord? How long, O Lord? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? As I think about it, the confessions are not boundaries that mark the limits of questioning; rather, the creeds and confessions are the guardrails that enable us to lean out and over the precipice, asking the hard questions.

Our churches often are not comfortable with fostering an ethos of curiosity and questioning, even though God is not at all frightened by such things. Again, I think it’s important for Christian scholars to model what faithful questioning looks like.

I'm no scholar, but I think that advice applies to the rest of us, too.

How Necessary Is the Bible?

2009-08-05T18:00:00.000-04:00

There has never been a time in history at which we have all had the same Bible.

Ponder that one for a moment.

Setting aside that fact, consider that millions of believers both throughout history and today have lacked some or all of what Christians now call the Bible. The "New Testament church" did. The masses before the printing press (c. 1440). Much of the underground church still does. Many who have been imprisoned. Many who are poor, or blind, or infirm. Those who are illiterate. Those without a Bible in their own language (200 million people, at present). Those without a written language, even.

If the emphasis (or even overemphasis) placed on the written scriptures by some parts of the modern Christian church is correct, and if the near-legalistic expectation of "personal" Bible study—even if only for a trivial number of minutes or verses per day—is correct, then several questions come to mind regarding those who go and have gone without, those already in the prophesied "famine of the Word," as some might call it: What is their Christian life focused on? How are they to truly know God or hear his voice? And if faith comes by hearing, and hearing (by?) the word of God, then on what basis can they come to faith in the first place? Are they inevitably stunted in their spiritual growth, compared to those who have the complete Bible? Weaker brothers and sisters, to be pitied, perhaps?

It seems that we should conclude thusly.

And if we insist that any challenge a specific passage of scripture presents can be made sense of by "the whole Bible," and that the whole Bible is required for proper understanding of (any of? much of?) its contents, then what must we conclude about those without the whole Bible, now and throughout history? And those without any Bible? That these unfortunates are doomed to misinterpretation and misunderstanding on "all matters of faith and practice"? Even on essentials, such as ... the Trinity; the relationship between sin, faith, grace, and works; or the nature of their own relationship to God?

It seems that we should conclude thusly.

And what if our own favorite translation of the Bible contains mistakes? Or if, someday, we were to find the autographs (the original books of the Bible), written in the very hands of the original authors and/or scribes—depending on your view of how the Bible was written—and different from any of the manuscript witnesses (the later copies of the books), from which all of our various and varied translations have been made? Should we conclude that we have not had—have never had—the true "Word of God"? That nobody has ever had the correct Bible?

It seems that we should conclude thusly. That we the privileged, despite our feast of Bibles and Bible study tools, have actually been in a similar position to those who lived before the closing of the canon, or those behind the Iron Curtain, or those with no Bible in their own language. That we didn't have every answer at our fingertips. That we didn't have every last word. We should conclude that some of our opinions may have been misguided, some of our emphases misplaced. We should conclude that some of our knowledge, our certainty was actually error, or naivety. Or perhaps even arrogance.

And what would this mean about God—if he has allowed all of us to wander in such imperfect light?

Or what would it mean about the Bible—if a perfect, loving, and holy God has not thought it necessary to provide one complete, uniform, and error-free Bible for all of us and for all of this time?

Despair not, gentle reader! More on this topic later.

What If We Are Wrong?

2009-07-17T23:38:00.010-04:00

[Salvation #3]

What does it mean that our agreement on salvation appears to fall apart once we move from terms to definitions? Some of the implications are unsettling, at best:

1. That we—collectively, as the church—don't understand what the gospel is, apparently. Or particularly well, at least. Or well enough to explain it. Without contradicting or vexing other brothers and sisters who have spent just as much effort, study, and prayer to understand salvation as we have—if not more. Including those who have lived under persecution, who have sought truth with more desperation and at greater cost.

2. That there is a real possibility that many of us, individually, don't understand the gospel correctly. That we really don't know what we're talking about. Though we may think we do. Or at least act as if we do whenever we judge the salvation of those around us.

3. That those who sense these possibilities, who see the speck of error or uncertainty in our brother's eye and know what the mirror will reveal, live out their salvation with a gnawing insecurity about our apparent inability to get the story straight.

Insecurity would explain the gymnastics we require of people when we present the gospel—lest anyone fall short of the threshold due to our flawed understanding. What if I miss a step in the recipe? What if I don't explain all necessary hoops? What if I forget the password? We act as if we fear we might be doing it all wrong—thwarting the great commission, even. As if someone's salvation was really up to us, dependent on how perfectly we make the pitch and close the deal.

Insecurity would explain our many lines in the sand, our lists of preferences, convictions, and doctrinal enemies. Our insistence on defining ourselves by our personal and denominational differences hints at a need to be recognized, approved, and proved right—or at least more right than others. Where does the self-justification end? Splitting the church into micro-denominations, into pieces tiny enough finally that all members of our group agree with us? Would we then be content? Or is empire building necessary to buttress the worth and rightness of our opinions?

Insecurity would explain our longing for doctrinal absolutes and our passionate self-defense against ambiguity. We fear that our theological house of cards will come crashing down if we acknowledge any uncertainty. To acknowledge, even to myself, that I might have misunderstood the gospel opens the door of possibility that I might be wrong about anything and everything. What else? How much? For how long? And what about my own salvation?

These are paralyzing questions.

Harmonizing the Scriptures

2009-07-12T22:47:00.004-04:00

Allow me to pause in our discussion of salvation to briefly consider an interpretation issue.

Many verses in the Bible seem to make no sense, or to be contrary to what we already believe is true, or -- worst of all -- to contradict what we thought the Bible said. Consider these examples, and how some might deal with the stickiness:

The Old Testament God seems grumpy, if not downright steamed. On the other hand, New Testament Jesus seems loving. But Jesus is God, and God is the same "yesterday, today, and forever." So, God isn't actually an angry God.
Creation took only six days. Fossils suggest that species popped out of the ooze over the course of millions of years. But "one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day." So, creation actually took six thousand years -- and the fossils are wrong.
Jesus said "Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone." Therefore, Jesus is not equal to God, or Jesus doesn't realize that he is God incarnate. But Jesus also said "I and the Father are one." So, Jesus is actually equal to God -- and was probably just messing with the rich young ruler. Or it was a test.

We have a moment of doubt. We find another verse that dispels our doubt. We latch onto the second verse and ignore the first verse (or assign a new harmonized interpretation to it which may be totally contradictory to the actual words in the original verse). Verse 2 trumps verse 1. Problem solved.

We explain away the problems by "harmonizing" the scriptures, and this is seen by many as a reasonable practice -- or even the definition of "rightly dividing" the Bible, and thus evidence of one's own advanced skill. How is this different, however, from simply picking the verses that seem true to us and declaring that these ones have the correct meaning? How objective is our filter for sifting through the contradictions? Where does our filter -- our presuppositions -- come from?

The verses that already made sense to us? Circular reasoning.

What we were taught in Sunday School, or at mother's knee, or in seminary? Traditions of men.

What seems right in our own eyes? Ouch.

The Power of Telling Stories Properly

2009-07-07T06:00:00.008-04:00

"In which a Tale is made Lame"

Are You Saved If...?

2009-07-06T01:17:00.003-04:00

[Salvation #2]

Continuing from my previous post, many would say that salvation is the central issue of Christianity, the very heart of the gospel, but agreement on the meaning of the word appears to have eluded the church throughout most -- if not all -- of its history.

Let us consider what salvation actually means at the level of the individual. Would we say that someone is saved if ...

he has begged for forgiveness of sins but feels no love, only terror, towards God?
she is four years old and "just loves Jesus"?
he is a (choose one) bigot / child abuser / bigamist / homosexual / addict?
she continues to sin (choose one) regularly / after a certain period of time following her conversion / only certain sins -- drunkenness, for example, or rock music?
he died very young -- or even was aborted?
she has been mentally retarded from birth?
he "confessed Jesus with his mouth," but doesn't fully understand or believe in his heart that "God raised him from the dead"?
she prayed a Sinner's Prayer as a child but now is apathetic about personal spiritual discipline or church participation?
he commits suicide?
she is (choose one) demon-possessed / mentally ill / chronically sick / poor?
he believes that well-meaning people from all religions can be saved, though he believes his own salvation has something to do with Jesus?
she believes she is, but never asked to be saved -- never "invited Jesus into her heart"?
he isn't sure whether he is saved or not?
she doesn't believe in (choose one) literal heaven and hell / inerrancy of scripture / the divinity of Jesus?
he claims to be a Christian, but has no intention of giving up his sexually active lifestyle?

Do all Christians agree? All pastors and priests? All theologians and scholars?

Though no biologist (or perhaps because I am not), I am reminded of the disagreement between Stephen Jay Gould and Richard Dawkins over the mechanism of evolution. If these two keepers of the flame, examining the same "scientific record" each thought the other's model was rubbish, then their shared belief in evolution seems to be more of a consensus on a single term to call their contradictory views -- or agreement on a Platonic form.

Maybe that seems good enough. Agree to disagree, and all. Semantics.

But if my wife and I agree that fruit is the tastiest food on earth, and my wife is referring to mangoes while I am referring to blackberries, then our agreement is nonsensical. And if my "soon" doesn't correspond to her "soon" when I reassure her that I haven't forgotten about taking out the garbage, then it seems a bit strained to say that she and I really agree in a meaningful way on when I'm going to finish conquering the world and come downstairs.

In like manner, if many Christians agree that salvation is key to understanding the gospel, that "you must be born again," but disagree on what salvation is, and what is required, and whether or not the person we are speaking with is already saved, then what agreement is that? If we have different definitions of salvation, then what do we actually have? Agreement on vocabulary, only?

Next Stop: What do these differences mean?

What Must I Do to Be Saved?

2009-06-30T06:07:00.005-04:00

[Salvation #1]

Salvation. It doesn't get more basic than that, does it? The gospel. The good news. The great Rescue Plan, as The Jesus Storybook Bible puts it.

But what exactly does "salvation" mean?

Christian salvation has been understood in different ways by different people at different times in history. See how many from this short list ring bells:

Salvation is only for the Jews.
Salvation is also for the Gentiles, but circumcision is still required (Acts 10 - 11).
Salvation is also for the Gentiles, and circumcision is not required -- but abstaining from blood and a handful of other duties are still (choose one) required / expected / requested / encouraged (Acts 15).
Salvation occurs through baptism (choose one) for believing adults / for any adult / even for infants / even for the dead (I Cor. 15: 29).
Salvation requires water baptism, and the method might be important, too.
Salvation requires speaking in tongues.
Salvation requires evidence of good works (Matt. 25: 34 - 45) or of some definition of "holiness."
Salvation (choose one) can / can't be lost.
Salvation (choose one) can / can't be rejected, once a person is saved.
Salvation requires hearing or reading the gospel in the King James translation.
Salvation requires proper understanding of one or more doctrines: nature of God, nature of Jesus, nature of man, nature of sin, nature of the Bible.
Salvation requires following a specific procedure or ritual, perhaps including confession of sins, or public confession of a specific sentence ("Jesus is Lord," for example), or repeating certain doctrinal statements in a prayer -- even though such a "Sinner's Prayer" typically contains more theology than most new converts actually understand.
Salvation (choose one) does / doesn't depend on us (the free will vs. predestination debate).
Salvation can be requested but refused by God.
Salvation requires someone going and "preaching the gospel," first.

More to come. Next time: Are You Saved If...?

How We Read the Bible

2009-06-05T06:42:00.014-04:00

What happens when we read the Bible? How do we interpret what we read? In other words, how do we understand? Let's break down the process a bit and consider some theories about what might be happening:

First, our eyes look at the words--translated into our own language, of course. And then ...

We understand the exact meaning intended, because that's what always and automatically happens when we read.
We understand the exact meaning intended, because of good intentions and careful concentration.
We understand, because of a miracle, the one exact meaning ever and always intended.
We understand, because of a miracle, the unique meaning that God wants us to have at that moment.
We understand something, based on our understanding (= our interpretation) of what the words mean to us in our own culture and time, but the meaning may be different from what was originally intended by the author--or the translator--or what was originally understood by the original audience of native speakers from those cultures 2,000 - 5,000 years ago. Therefore, only the history scholars and language experts among us can aspire to perfect understanding.
Even if we are scholars and experts, what we understand is filtered through our own personal experience (as per Rosenblatt's transactional theory of reading), and will change as our experience changes. Our understanding of verses about God as father, for example, is affected by our own experiences with our own fathers and our experiences with or without children of our own.
We understand something, but not necessarily the complete and perfect, higher-than-our thoughts of a supernatural, eternal, and omniscient God.

Experience should tell us that options 1 and 2 are ridiculous. Those of us who have ever taught students at any level know this full well.

Theories 1 - 3 are also contradicted by our experience of doctrinal arguments between different denominations. Universal understanding even by well-meaning clergy and laity is not what history reveals.

Theory 4 is harder to refute, since we don't know what voices people are hearing in their heads. Any argument against personal experience is difficult unless we can read minds. However, most honest people would admit to errors in their personal understanding of scripture, to thinking God had told them something but realizing later that it was fear, emotion, or their own desire to believe, and not the voice of God. This happens to even the brightest among us.

The perfect understanding held out to us in theory 5 would appear to be contradicted by the lack of agreement among scholars and experts.

Theories 6 and 7, then.... For us mere mortals, we appear to be left with incomplete understanding, and no certainty about how accurate we actually are when interpreting a given passage. And this uncertainty, this ambiguity is very threatening to some.

Interestingly, this is our condition even if we hold to the most extreme doctrines of Biblical inerrancy and infallibility. Every word may be the exact and perfect one, and perfectly true and authoritative, but this doesn't mean that we understand fully or that we all have the same understanding. Confidence in the Bible is different than confidence in my ability to fully grasp the thoughts of God after carefully reading it once--or a hundred times.

I love and believe the Bible. My argument here is not that the Bible is irrelevant or that we read it without hope of understanding. Rather, I see the need for patience and care when reading, for diligence to learn more about the language and context, for prayer that the Holy Spirit would aid in the understanding, and for humility when interpreting or when disagreeing with somebody's interpretation.

More importantly, I love and believe in the Lord himself--amazing mystery though he may always be to me. I believe that I can know him--as I am fully known. This is different from knowing about him through reading the Bible. I can know information in a book, or a book itself, but those will always be qualitatively different from knowing a Person. As in other relationships, perfect knowledge and perfect understanding on my part are not requirements or priorities. We know in part, and ultimately, knowledge will pass away.

The Speck in the Other's Eye

2009-05-05T06:00:00.000-04:00

Mart De Haan, Our Daily Bread guy, offers a succinct analysis of the "Emerging Church" controversy.

Referring to the seven churches in Revelation, he writes,

"But what if the seven churches had been doing the equivalent of writing books, posting Internet articles, and adding to the rumor mill about the problems of the other 'six.' What if they had been calling attention to the failures of one another as if there were not serious issues with themselves?

So it is today. Whether in emerging or traditional evangelical churches, all of us have our blind spots. Only when we are willing to listen to one another, and to come to terms with the downside of our own way of 'doing church,' will we have the humility and spiritual sobriety we need to work for, rather than against, the body of Christ we share."

Not a Christian Nation

2009-04-30T06:01:00.015-04:00

I'm no fan of the "coexist" bumper sticker fad, or the darker side of tolerance and relativism that it can epitomize, but I really don't agree with all of the mythology about how godly this nation used to be, or that we used to be so righteous but some shadowy conspiracy ruined it. And I don't think most Americans believe these tales either--including Christian Americans who have read enough American history. The truth is that the Founding Fathers--though many of them were religious--were not interested in creating a religious system of government. And the church has had plenty of opportunity to shape our culture, but we have chosen to fill our days with money, TV, and now the Internet, instead. The government, the devil, and "the world" aren't our biggest problems in this country; we are.

Is President Obama wrong that we are not a Christian nation? What percentage of Americans do we actually believe are saved--and living like followers of Christ? What percentage of our politicians? I would think that Obama is only saying the same thing that most evangelists believe today. Recall that we've shifted to being a destination for Christian missionaries from around the world. There still may be large groups of older white people and rednecks who oppose gays and "socialism," in the Bible Belt or somewhere, but a majority of spiritually healthy and growing Christians?

Was it "Christian America" that drove the Native Americans onto reservations and broke our treaties to grab their land? That wrote 3/5 representation for slaves into the Constitution? Do we really portray Christ to the world--or ourselves--when our "Christian" presidents insist on wars for oil and torturing prisoners, or when we thrive on corporate greed--often on the backs of third world child labor--and continue to mistreat minorities in our own country? When we are the market that demands the world's drugs and pornography? I'm not eager to call that kind of nation "Christian," and the tiny percentage of our wealth that we share with the poor doesn't make up for how we spend the rest of it.

So, what are we? And what do most Americans unfamiliar with our myths believe we are? America is what it has long or always been: a diverse society. The proverbial melting pot. A crazy mix of everyone. The selfish and the sinful, mostly. Catholics and Jews and immigrants, even when they were persecuted by their Protestant Christian majority neighbors. Blacks and other minorities, even when those groups were blatantly denied civil and human rights by the "more-godly" government of the day. We are a country (sometimes) open to the dregs of the world, to the "huddled masses yearning to be free," even if not yearning to be Christian.

America is a place for religious freedom, not government-sponsored Christianity. I don’t believe we ever had a religion quiz to become a citizen. I hope we never had "Jew quotas" to maintain political dominance by Protestant Christianity. And I doubt that Pentecostal Christianity, for example, would have been allowed to take root here if the Founding Fathers had given the government the power to say what correct religion was. Our Constitution makes possible the freedom to be whatever we see fit--as long as we don’t violate the rights of others. Even if we want to be homeschooling atheists, or granola-eating Christians, or college-educated members of the NRA. That isn't something new that the liberals have foisted on the rest; that's our heritage. Freedom. To worship as we see fit, but not required to worship.

Government isn't God's tool to make or keep America godly and Americans' attitude toward government probably wasn't all that godly. The Founding Fathers thought government was a power-hungry beast. Go to the library and read the Federalist Papers. The American colonists thought it was their right to seize control of their own destiny when they didn’t like the (Christian) government of England. We revolted instead of submitting to God-established authorities. What are we? We're a federal republic of government-suspicious rebels, not a theocracy or a Christian democracy.

Yes, Christians should participate in the political process. Why did we ever stop? But look to government as the solution to our culture? Look to just one political party, specifically? And tell our kids yarns about someone stealing our birthright? Until large numbers of radical Christians are willing to be politicians, I don't plan to waste much hope on government solutions. I have more hope in the possibility of a grassroots revival than in trickle-down salvation of America from a someday-Christian government. And we are wasting time and energy blaming the president, the godless media, or the United Nations instead of looking into our own hearts for the cause of our culture's demise.

We're not a Christian nation, and that's why we need Jesus here in America more than ever. Jesus, not the return of a fairy tale government to love us and save us. The sooner we accept this truth, the better.

Onward in Post-Christian America

2009-04-30T06:00:00.001-04:00

Is Christianity dying out in America? Is it time to abandon hope?

"Many younger Christians are poised to lead a nimble and embodied twenty first century faith. But they are still struggling to wrestle the microphone from those who are clinging to Christendom."

"We have only just begun to recognize the damage we’ve done to the faith. We must start by acknowledging how unloving we’ve been to those we’ve disagreed with. The perceptions compiled by David Kinnaman in the best-selling book unChristian are withering. We are seen as judgmental, anti-intellectual, anti-homosexual and too political. It is tough to sustain a faith based upon what or whom we’re against."

Read the complete article for suggestions on what Christians might consider doing in post-Christian America.

Stories for Boys and Girls

2009-04-20T13:33:00.001-04:00

N.D. Wilson says: “I am regularly asked why I write stories for children. The easy answer? I’m childish. But to be honest, I have no intention of limiting myself to children’s stories. At this phase of my life, however, they are the most important stories I can tell. I have children, I love children, and imaginations need food. The world is big. The world is wonderful. But it is also terrifying. It is an ocean full of paper boats. For many children, the only nobility, the only joy, the only strength and sacrifice that they see firsthand comes in fiction.

Even when children have plenty of joy in their lives, good stories reinforce it. As long as I’m dealing in honesty, I may as well admit that I have been more influenced (as a person) by my childhood readings of Tolkien and Lewis than I have been by any philosophers I read in college and grad school. The events and characters in Narnia and Middle Earth shaped my ideals, my dreams, my goals. Kant just annoyed me.”

The Appeal of Buddhism

2009-03-07T15:56:00.012-05:00

Buddhism appeals to me in several ways. Primarily in terms of fashion, mind you. Who wouldn't jump at saffron robes and a shaved head? Also, mystical disciplines. And the lure of kung fu powers, of course. More philosophically, Buddhism's greatest appeal concerns its understanding of what causes human suffering: our desires or, as I think of them, our expectations.

Some people do a much better job of setting aside their expectations and taking life as it comes. My Uncle Bill, for example. And Llonio in Lloyd Alexander's Taran Wanderer, who smiled and created a feast from whatever his children brought to him each day. These people see serendipity all around them. These people's lives are marked by joy and grace.

Most of what awareness I have of my expectations I credit to ESI, who gave me six weeks of training before sending me to a post-apocalyptic, third world wasteland to teach English.

"Expectations. What are my expectations?" was the mantra. What do I expect that I will accomplish? What do I expect from others in this crazy land? What do I expect from my teammates? Gene Edward's The Prisoner in the Third Cell later taught me to ask myself what I expect from God and what I will do when God disappoints my expectations.

The latter question is the more important one. How will I respond when my expectations are not met? And whose fault will it be? More on this another time.

These are crucial questions in a marriage. These are crucial questions in all relationships, including the church. What are reasonable expectations to place on the church, or on a pastor? Do I expect that people read my mind when I need prayer or am cowering in my sin caves? Do I expect that the music match my preferences? That the sermons address my most pressing spiritual needs each week? That a red carpet be rolled out for my gifts and talents to be used in the main weekly service? That the pastor become my best friend and invite me over for holidays and birthdays? Or do I expect that I "be fed," according to my definition of what spiritual feeding is, of course, and with the spiritual foods that I find tastiest--and as if my feeding were not my own responsibility.

If I am honest, I bring such expectations to my church, though I rarely voice them. Their common theme: Me. The "I" in the middle of "sin," as some have said. Are these expectations reasonable? Biblical? Selfless? Are they consistent with "preferring one another" (Romans 12:10)? Do they lead to greater maturity or testify of Christ's resurrection to a lost and dying world? Do they glorify God or bring him delight? Hardly.

What is worse, I often confuse my expectations with my rights, but not my right to remain silent, or my right to take up my cross daily--to "Die, sucker, die." And now I have a problem greater than disappointment, greater than the Buddha's "suffering." Now I am tempted to justify my displeasure, my boredom, my lack of love. And I fit my neck for a millstone.

(Possible) Future Posts

2009-02-05T09:32:00.004-05:00

Eggs in One Basket
Why We Believe Anything
The Feeding Trough
Our Own Tents
Divorce Culture
The Arms Race
I Could Be a Buddhist If....
The Bible's Limitations
Tozer Quotes
Bible Verses That Don't Exist

Feel free to vote for your favorites in the Comments section.

Community

2009-01-30T12:52:00.003-05:00

"It seems everywhere I look these days I’m reminded of the soul-searing danger of avoiding community...."

Great quote from Stephen Lamb, posted at The Rabbit Room, along with some good thoughts on the necessity of community for truly knowing God.

LOST

2009-01-25T00:56:00.007-05:00

So we've begun watching the first season of Lost on DVDs from the library. What struck me pretty quickly was the recurring "every man for himself" theme. Even the characters who seem the most likable, or reasonable, or heroic suddenly go winging off into the jungle on some personal Quest that just has to be done. Right now, of course. In the rain, at night--it doesn't matter. Of course, the hero's quest inevitably intersects the path of at least one innocent bystander, and moving at such speed tends to make it hard for the hero to even see said bystanders before running them over.

The first lesson I see in this is that "no man is an island" (Sorry!). When trying to survive in a foreign land, we need each other. How well we get along doesn't change this at all; we still need each other. Nobody has all strengths and no weaknesses. Some jobs can't be done well alone--if at all. Nobody sees the whole picture. C. S. Lewis argued that a map--the collection of many people's experiences, stale though it may seem--is more useful than one's personal experience of the sea if one actually wants to leave the beach and sail somewhere. How much more we need others in the church, the body of Christ, if it is God who joins us together and gives to us different gifts and talents.

Furthermore, what we do has an impact on everyone else. How important we believe our fool's errand to be doesn't matter; our actions ripple out across the pond and can't be taken back if we realize it was a bad idea. The kid can't just run off with the dog whenever he's upset with his father, because then the dad has to follow him to keep him from getting eaten by the polar bears and monsters. The doctor's personal demons don't change the fact that people in need of medical care are lying back on the beach. "I just needed to be alone" doesn't cut it when a rescue party has to be sent out after you. Or when someone in the rescue party gets hurt in the process.

The second lesson is not to make important decisions while the adrenaline is flowing. Adrenaline produces many amazing physiological changes to help us in the "fight or flight," but one of them, tunnel vision, is not so amazing when our choices affect others. Not so useful when trying to analyze a complex situation. Not so helpful when when we ought to be thinking through the consequences that our decisions will have on those who are just a little too far to the side to focus on properly. The WORST time to make an important decision is during a crisis, when emotional, while under stress. That's when we are most likely to fight or flee to protect ourselves. When the "I" rears its ugly head.

How often we wish we could take back what we said in the heat of the moment. How much harder to take back our actions. To restore the confidence that others once placed in us. To reassure them that we actually do think they matter. To prove that we really aren't as selfish as we looked. To rebuild trust once it has been lost.

Stay in the Boat, Jackson.

2009-01-22T01:35:00.005-05:00

I'm the firstborn, so rules and being right come naturally. Add to that my amazing brain power, and it's a wonder that I haven't taken over the world already. As I have become (ahem) wiser, however, I have decided that being right is not so important--is not the main goal of life. I recognize (often much too late) that I have made some terrible mistakes; I know that I am capable of doing so again. But these do not signify the end of the world to me.

I am blessed to be part of a family, a great circle of friends around the world, and a church community. What these have in common is relationship, if we are willing. And relationship provides the means for someone, the "other," whomever that may be, to help me see the plank in my eye--and faster than I might by myself, even if I were willing to look for it. Relationship relieves the pressure to be right all the time. We don't have to figure everything out by ourselves; I don't have to make myself perfect. That won't happen "until we see him face to face" anyway.

Spiritual maturity isn't about being right more often. Relationship isn't happy-happy all the time. And we don't even get to choose the family relationships we are born into--neither our immediate family members nor Adam, for that matter. When I enter into relationship--serious, covenant-type relationship--I "sign up for" heartache, disappointment, and as much nonsense as God knows I can bear. And I know that I will be the source of these, as well.

So, I can be very tolerant of others' mistakes, others' ignorance, others' faults, unhappy though I may be. And I can hope and expect that others in community will extend the same grace to me. I can endure a lot of arguing about where the boat should be going. There is a fundamental requirement, however, in relationship. Not "rightness," and not that everyone agrees with me, even when I'm right. What is required is that we stay in the family, in the circle, in the community.

That we stay in the boat.

Staying provides the opportunity to work out the process. To sharpen the dull iron. To take as long as it has to take. Staying means that we are "there" together, wherever that is. Recall Ruth's willingness to make Naomi's country, people, and even God her own. If we leave, how can we hear reason from those who love us? Who can speak sense into our nonsense? Who will help us? Who will slap us when we need it? Whom is God more likely to speak through than those whom we already know and who know us better than anyone else does? Those whom we have already committed ourselves to.

We don't have to be right, or smart, or lovely, or strong. But we have to stay in the boat.

I'm a genius!

2009-01-21T22:43:00.011-05:00

I'm a smart guy. Really, I am. My standardized test scores growing up were unreal. But for some reason, I have friends who, on occasion, don't seem to value the thoughts of a smart friend. Friends who would apparently prefer to muddle through with input from others less gifted in the area of intelligence. Now, my wife appreciates my intelligence. She said to mention that. On most days, she attributes this to her own intelligence. "I'm a genius!" she is fond of announcing.

My point is that I feel some measure of frustration at what I view as my inability to be the kind of friend I would like to be--inability that is due to these friends' unwillingness to talk about their questions and ideas before launching out into the waters of a bad decision or adopting some kooky opinion. Frustration at how hard it is to talk someone out of something they've already decided is more important than the truth. For Pete's sake, why would someone want to be friends with me if not to benefit from my genius!

Now, my vast intellect can be intimidating, or so I've been told. I get that, though it kills me. Intimidating is about the last thing I want to be, most days. But one would think that a friend would be able to get past that. If not, how would one ever become friends with such a smart guy?

I also understand the "itching ears" tendency. Everyone likes to be told that what they've come up with by themselves is brilliant. Some might say that I am this way, too.... More on that, later.

I believe that we're born and wired this way, sadly. Self-centered, fearful, and preferring the cave. C. S. Lewis's Dufflepuds come to mind.