twenty feet

Postscript

2009-09-07T20:42:00.004-06:00

The so-called conclusion having finally arrived, the reader may well be curious about my future, both blog-wise and otherwise. Regarding the latter, I will be spending the next three months at a place called L'Abri (the Canadian one) where I'll be reading books and participating in community living. Among other things, I'm hoping to gain a better understanding of what it means to be a disciple of Christ, and whether that is something I can or want to pursue. I'm also hoping that adopting a somewhat simpler lifestyle (read: limited internet access) will help me develop a little self-discipline, and maybe even work on some spiritual disciplines.

A happy side effect of having limited internet access is that, despite living in a community on a beautiful west coast island and presumably learning many interesting things, I cannot reasonably be expected to keep a travel blog. This is a great relief.

So I'm not likely to post anything for the next three months or so. After that, I'm not sure. I expect I'll get the itch again at some point.

In the mean time, for those who are feeling nostalgic, I have hastily compiled a list of 20 (natch) of my favorite posts from the archives:

The Prodigal Returns - A parable expressing the angst that birthed this blog
Laura, I Love You - My first attempt to stop pining for God
Dufflepud Theology - I like this one mainly for its title
A Prayer - A pretty big shift in my worldview
Fog - Whence "twenty feet"
Moving Beyond the Bible - Why I don't see scripture as the last Word
What I'm Trying to Say is This - A (vain?) attempt to talk about beauty
Greater Things Than These - Thoughts on the Sheep & the Goats
It's Been a While - How I pray, when I pray
An Extravagant Hope - My best shot at eschatology
His Love Endures Forever - A study of my least-favorite Bible story
Fruit in Keeping With Repentance - My favorite Hellfire preacher
A Hole of a Different Shape - Why God is not all we need
I Choose Love - Why I don't believe in Hell
Hell and Justice - Why I don't think we deserve Hell
Come Be My Light - Reflections on Mother Teresa's biography
Prophecy and Innerancy - Why inerrancy misses the point
And of course,
In Conclusion: The Bible, Belief, and Discipleship

Peace.

In Conclusion: Discipleship

2009-09-02T13:20:00.004-06:00

This post is the third in a trilogy. I recommend reading parts one and two first.

As I said previously, I've come to understand Christianity as a way of life - the act of dying to yourself daily, taking up your cross, and following Jesus. The question, then, is whether it is possible for a person in my position to be a Christian. Can I truly be a disciple of Christ without accepting the Bible as my ultimate authority, the infallible word of God? Can Jesus be my Rabbi if I'm not certain exactly what he said?

There is, of course, a great inherent difficulty in trying to be a disciple of someone who lived two thousand years ago. We can't go directly to him for instruction and guidance, so we necessarily become disciples of Christ, as understood through the Bible. Or rather, Christ, as understood through the Bible, as understood through friends, parents, pastors, mentors, books, and culture.

This obstacle is insurmountable, but not fatal. We cannot reach back to Jesus himself, but we can get closer than we currently are. We cannot know the truth, but we can unmask delusions. We can do the best we can. We can take up our crosses and follow, even if we're not certain just what it is we're following.

I think there is inherent value in a life of discipleship, apart from the value of following Jesus specifically. Discipline is both a means and an end. But you can't be a disciple of your own values or morals or your own personal concept of God. To be a disciple you must have something outside of yourself to which you're totally dedicated and submissive. I, having no ultimate external authority, am unqualified.

I accept this as a necessary consequence of my choice. I can't have it both ways. I can pursue goodness, seek truth, develop self-control, love others, and even try to emulate Christ without an absolute authority. (It is, of course, possible to learn from someone without being fully devoted to them.) But I cannot call myself a disciple.

A couple years ago I read The Cost of Discipleship, and was struck by the assertion that "only he who believes is obedient, and only he who is obedient believes." I know that faith without works is dead; could it be that works without faith are no better? Is faith somehow necessary for obedience? What kind of faith? Faith in what? What is it about Christ's call that makes obedience without faith impossible?

Recently I've realized that Bonhoeffer is not identifying some special feature of Christian discipleship, but merely stating a plain fact about the nature of obedience. True obedience is an act of faith; it is not possible to obey anyone except insofar as you trust them. The disciple may not want to follow, but he follows. He may not see why he should go this way, but he follows. He may be certain that this is entirely the wrong path, that he is headed for disaster, that another way would be safer, smoother, faster, but he follows. If I follow Christ only when it seems wise to me to do so, I am not really following him at all.

And so obedience requires an object. I cannot say, "I obey Christ" unless I can point to something and say, "and this is what I mean by 'Christ'." It is not necessary (nor is it possible) to know that the Word you follow is genuine – the very voice of God. But you must act as if it is. To follow, you must be willing to leave not only home, family, and fields, but society, morality, and reason. You must be willing to sacrifice anything and anyone.

The thought terrifies me. Who could ever make such a choice? What if the Christ I followed told me not to resist an evil person, or to sell everything I have? What if he told me that God orders genocides, or abandons his creations to eternal torment? Who could accept such teachings?

We’ve forgotten how dangerous obedience is. We remember that Isaac was spared, and forget that he was very nearly murdered. And how many others, when under the knife of another man's faith, have been so lucky? Divine voices, it seems, seldom recant.

I've said before that I want to pursue love first and foremost, and that I am a Christian only to the extent that Christianity spurs me toward this goal. I am a Christian second, and so not a Christian at all.

And yet.

The idea of surrendering myself entire, of dying not only to my appetites but to my hopes and ambitions, my beliefs and principles, even to my conscience, has a strange and persistent appeal.

If a Voice called me, could I resist? Would I not take up my fire and my knife and follow him?

In Conclusion: Belief

2009-08-14T16:36:00.002-06:00

Aside from my approach to the Bible (see the previous post) the most significant point where I've departed from the doctrine of my Evangelical upbringing is that I don't believe in hell. It's not that I ever stopped believing in hell so much as that I came to realize that, despite my best efforts, belief in hell is impossible for me. I'm not saying that a place of eternal torment does not exist (what do I know about such things?). It's just that I don't know how I could live my life as a believer in hell. It would change everything, and it would probably drive me to despair. So what else can I do? I reject belief in hell.

On the other hand, there are a lot of big Christian doctrines that I just don't feel too strongly about. Is Jesus God? I don't know. I tend to think of him that way, but it doesn't mean a whole lot to me. (Although I firmly believe that Jesus was God’s Messiah - the one chosen to speak for God and do his work.) I like the idea of the trinity, because of what it suggests about the significance of community, but I have no real interest in any doctrine that tries to explain the relationship between Jesus and God. And the objective, historical reality of the virgin birth doesn't really interest me.

So in some cases I disagree with the central doctrines of conservative Christianity, but most have simply lost importance for me. The essential change is not in the content of my beliefs, but in my understanding of the nature of belief itself.

The way I read the Bible, true faith is inseparable from works. When Jesus asks us to believe, he is speaking about lifestyle, not doctrine - the sort of faith which spurred the heroes of Hebrews 11 to action. Our beliefs are manifest in the way we live our lives. To the extent that our intellectual beliefs about Christ do not govern our lives we are, in fact, unbelievers.

I'm not saying that we who don’t practice what we preach are frauds or unredeemed. I do not preach a spiritual elitism, and I am as weak and inconstant in my faith as anyone. I affirm the sufficiency of God's love and grace, independent of our belief. But I think we need to call our unbelief what it is.

Peter Rollins, one of my favorite Christian writers at the moment, was asked if he denies the resurrection, and admitted that he does:

I deny the resurrection of Christ every time I do not serve at the feet of the oppressed, each day that I turn my back on the poor; I deny the resurrection of Christ when I close my ears to the cries of the downtrodden and lend my support to an unjust and corrupt system.

However there are moments when I affirm that resurrection, few and far between as they are. I affirm it when I stand up for those who are forced to live on their knees, when I speak for those who have had their tongues torn out, when I cry for those who have no more tears left to shed.

This is what faith in Jesus means to me. I am a believer in Christ inasmuch as I am actively striving to imitate him and put his teachings into practice. I have a habit of thinking that Jesus rose bodily from the dead. But my opinion on this matter just doesn't seem all that significant to me anymore. What matters to me is that I live (or am beginning to live, or desire to live) as if dead and ruined things can be brought back to life, as if God has called me to participate in the resurrection of all creation.

So what do I believe in? What are the ideas that shape my view of the world and the way I live my life?

I believe that there is a God, and that she love us.

I believe that I was created to love and be loved, and that this is true of all other people, and even all of creation.

I believe that Jesus exemplified God's love in his life and death.

I believe that there is gratuitous and unjustifiable evil in this world.

And I believe in the ultimate redemption and reconciliation of all things.

Some of these beliefs come naturally to me. I believe them because, for whatever reason, I cannot do otherwise. Some of them are the result of long and careful consideration. And some have been adopted out of necessity, in order to save me from despair.

I am interested in why I believe what I believe, whether these beliefs can be justified, and what amendments I ought to make to them, but mostly I want to work on living them out.

In Conclusion: The Bible

2009-08-02T23:38:00.003-06:00

This will not be an apologetic. I don't believe in apologetics. I feel the temptation to justify, even to proselytize, but any such effort would be a distortion and a betrayal. I came to this point through years of struggle and confusion, and I can't (and when I think about it, I wouldn't want to) bring the reader to comprehension or appreciation or agreement with a few well-chosen words.

In any case, I don't believe that everyone ought to see things as I do. My worldview changed because I was no longer capable of believing as I had, and I was compelled to find something I could believe.

The essential change in my life over the last five years is that I no longer see the Bible as infallible. What I mean is that I don't believe everything the Bible says is completely true - theologically or otherwise. I don't believe, for example, the part about the Egyptian plagues. I don't believe that's how it happened, and I particularly don't believe what it says about God.

Inevitably, then, people want to know which parts of the Bible I do believe in. By what means do I determine what to believe or disbelieve? Do I just ignore the parts I don't like?

I don't have really satisfying, concrete answers for these questions. I do have some hermeneutical principles (I'm certainly interested in understanding what the Bible really means to say) but they don't tell me which parts of the Bible are True and which aren't. Honestly, I have a hard time really thinking about the Bible (or anything else) in terms of some absolute, objective standard of truth.

I would say that the Bible is God-breathed (a beautiful, mysterious term), and I would certainly say that it is useful, but I reject the doctrine of inerrancy because, for one thing, I don't think the authors of the Bible thought in terms of inerrancy. Of course they believed that God's word was true, but "true" meant different things to them than it does to us. I've said more about this in other places, so I won’t delve too deeply here.

This is the best explanation I can give: The Bible is the fulcrum of my faith - not the foundation, not the containing walls, but the point around which I orient myself, and in relation to which I take my bearings. I don't always agree with the Bible, in fact it sometimes angers, frustrates and disgusts me. But I am never done with the Bible. I can disagree with it, even rebel against it, but I cannot dismiss it. To put it succinctly, the Bible is the voice that I cannot ignore.

Having such a voice is valuable to me in many ways:

It gives me a sense of belonging, reminding me of the ancient and enduring tradition that I inhabit.

It reminds me that I am the spiritual progeny of thieves, murderers, genocidal conquerors, and all other kinds of sinners, that I am no better than they, and that God loves me nevertheless.

It reminds me that I am not the final authority on any matter, that different people have wildly different perspectives on God and morality, and that my own views are no more likely to be right.

It reminds me that there is great evil in this world, and that I must stand against it, no matter what.

It reminds me also that God is in the business of redemption, that the sick can be healed, the broken restored, the dead raised to life, and the wretched made agents of grace.

And it reminds me that God and creation alike are complex and mysterious, and that the pursuit of knowledge, like any meaningful pursuit, will never come to an end.

I do not accept whatever the Bible says without question, but I respect it, and I commit myself to it, and I wrestle with it. I don’t ignore the parts that bother me. If anything, I tend to concentrate on them. I live in this tension: recognizing that I am a small, frail creature in the midst of something deep and ancient and holy, and yet still maintaining my autonomy.

There is a question of where my disagreement with the Bible is leading. In the future I may be called to submit to Scripture on even the most difficult points. But I feel that at this point it would be a betrayal of my convictions, and even (if I may make such a grand claim) a betrayal of God’s calling to me, if I were to give up the struggle.

Again, this isn't a sales pitch. I don't think everyone ought to approach the Bible this way. Some are called to struggle; others to sacrifice. I do worry about people who are wholly unperturbed by verses like Psalm 136:10, but I think it is possible to engage the Bible honestly, having predetermined, ultimately, to submit. The essential point for me is that the Bible is a very complex and difficult book. It was not written to provide comfort and certainty. If we can agree on this one thing - that the Bible is to be wrestled with, that it blesses us, but also wounds us - then we are not so far apart.

Happy Anniversary

2009-07-25T21:16:00.001-06:00

Today, as one incorrigible follower has already noted, is the one-year anniversary of my last post here, which was itself merely an apology for my long absence and a promise to return with a thrilling conclusion soon.

"Soon" being long past, I am obliged to apologize again, and again promise that my return/final departure is imminent. I will even say that it's closer than it has ever been before.

Summer is winding down, a stint at camp is approaching, and I expect to have little free time or internet access in the fall. And so this, at long last, is it. Make or break. Do or die. Sydney or the bush.

My plan is to post on each of the next three weekends, which will bring me about to the limit of my modest window of opportunity. This will require a good deal of time and effort, and some compromise to my unreasonable editorial standards, but I feel confident I can distill something publishable from my interminable drafts in that time.

And if not, it's time to be done with the whole damn thing anyway.

Next week: The Bible

The Once and Future Blogger

2008-07-25T23:07:00.001-06:00

It looks like I'm done with blogging. It looks like I'm done, but I'm not.

What's happened is I've been horrifically busy these past three months. Working 12-hour days. Buying and maintaining a car. Planning my future.

More than that, I've been in a writing slump for some time now. I attribute this partially to my ever-rising editorial standards - my posts are generally shorter than they were when I began but take much longer to write, and many never get published. The other difficulty is that I've been coming to some conclusions.

You might think that having decided a few things would make it easier to write, but this seems not to be the case. I've always found it easier express confusion or disagreement than to put forth my own position. When presenting my own views I feel like I should be some kind of expert - if not on the subjects of my opinions, then at least on my opinions themselves. If I think something, I should be able to express it, right? Well, it's hard.

But I think the time is right to try. This blog has always been about my search for a spiritual je ne sais quoi - the god or truth or purpose without which I felt alone or lost or unfulfilled. The loneliness and lostness and unfulfillment has diminished over the past four years, to the point that I am no longer searching in the way that I was then, and so I think it is time to bring this blog to a proper close. Despite the fact that the object of my search remains (and I think will always remain) somewhat unknowable and inexpressible.

I should have said that it's almost time to conclude this blog. Time continues to be a scarcity. I'm rushing off to camp for the remainder of the summer, but I will make a determined effort to return in the fall, and then I will tell you what there is to tell.

Prophecy and Inerrancy

2008-04-11T14:35:00.001-06:00

I apologize for the lack of posting of late. I have plenty to write about, but school's been taking up a lot of my time. They're making me write essays, if you can believe it.

I'm taking a Religious Studies course on Jesus, and I've been doing a little research on the infant narratives in Matthew and Luke. Here's what my textbook (Howard Clark Kee: Jesus in History) has to say about Matthew's version of events:

Each of these "historical" moves was ultimately dictated... by the divine plan laid down in Scripture. The return from Egypt is said to be the fulfillment of Hosea 11:1. The grief of the mothers whose children were slain by Herod is seen as predicted in Jeremiah 31:15. The move to Nazareth is said to accord with "what was spoken by the prophets": "He shall be called a Nazarene" (Matt. 2:23). There is no text corresponding to this declaration, but it is likely a reference to Isaiah 11:1, as noted below.

Matthew has no interest in the actual historical events in biblical times out of which the prophets spoke these words, nor does he make any attempt to show a direct correlation between the historical events in biblical times and the situation in the time of Jesus. Hosea was describing the Exodus from Egypt, when God delivered his people ("my son") and led them into the land of Palestine. Jeremiah's words probably refer to the fall of the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 B.C.E., some 100 years before his own time. Jeremiah's prophecies come from the last quarter of the seventh century B.C.E., shortly before Judah, the southern kingdom, likewise fell.

The word Nazarene does not occur in the Hebrew Bible, but is probably traced to Isaiah 11:1, where the shoot (nester) from the stump of Jesse is mentioned as God's agent in establishing his just rule on earth. The metaphor in Isaiah is that of a tree cut down, which signifies the end of the Davidic dynasty. The prophet foresees the appearance, from the seemingly lifeless stump, of a shoot that will both signal and effect the reestablishment of the Kingdom. Conceivably, Mathew could have found in this prophetic word a prediction pointing to the kingly role that was assigned by Christians to Jesus. Instead, Matthew used the Isaiah 11 passage to prove that it was ordained in Scripture that Jesus' residence should be in Nazareth. (The Hebrew letters would be n-ts-r; the language was written in consonants, and the reader supplied the vowels; hence, Na-TSa-Rene.)

The writer of Matthew did not ask what Isaiah intended by his words; he was interested in finding what they might mean to him and his readers. Since the Bible was held to be divinely inspired, its sacred letters were subject to multiple interpretations, limited only by the talent and ingenuity of the interpreter. The discovery of obscure meanings in Scripture was regarded as a tribute to its divine origin, not a falsification of the intention of the biblical writer. The question of the Old Testament writers' intentions was for Matthew as well as for Jewish interpreters of his age an irrelevant one, because they believed that the God who had spoken through the prophets in the past was still in control of human affairs and was shaping them in accord with his own purpose, which the skillful interpreter of scripture could discern in the present and correlate with the writings from the ancient past. What was significant was continuity of divine purpose, not precision of historical knowledge.

(Links and paragraphs added.)

I noticed years ago that Matthew's Old Testament "prophecies" often don't say what he claims they do. (The famous "virgin" birth prophecy is another good example.) At first I though Matthew is simply lying. From a modern western perspective, Matthew's creative exegesis looks like an effort to dupe ill-informed readers into the conviction that Jesus fulfilled Messianic credentials laid down centuries before.

But of course, Matthew was neither modern nor western, and he wrote according to the the literary and scholarly conventions of his own time and culture. As strange as it seems to us, his complete disregard for the intended meaning of the texts he quotes would have been quite legitimate in the eyes of his Jewish contemporaries.

Part of the problem is that Matthew's understanding of words like "prophecy" and "fulfill" are somewhat different from our own. His account of Jesus' birth and early years is designed to recall that of the nation of Israel (a dreamer named Joseph, the journey to Egypt and back again, escape from a fearful king who kills baby boys) and establish Jesus as both the Messianic King and a sort of new Moses. Matthew quotes from the scriptures in order to underline these similarities, and would have understood them more as prefigurations of Jesus than as predictions.

This is why I think the doctrine of inerrancy (at least in its popular form) misses the point: it assumes that the Bible conforms to modern logic and literary conventions that were completely unfamiliar to its authors and intended readers. If we want to assess (or assert) the truth of an ancient document, we must consider the way it was intended to be true, not the way we would like it to be true.

Of course, this isn't easy to determine. Like anything thousands of years old, we don't have a precise understanding of ancient Hebrew culture, logic, or literary genres. It's unclear exactly what sort of apparent errors or untruths (from a modern perspective) might have been acceptable to the various intended readers of the scriptures. Chronological adjustments? Misleading prophecies? Historical inaccuracies? Embellishments and extrapolations? Theological discrepancies? (I may deal with some of these points in subsequent posts.) Whatever conclusions we may reach, it's clear that a good dose of humility is required.

But whether or not the Bible is true in the ways that the authors intended it to be, or (still more difficult to discern) in the ways that God intended it to be, this much is clear: it was not written with our modern assumptions and expectations in mind.

The Things He Reads

2008-03-11T23:50:00.002-06:00

I figured it's time I plugged my friend Raskolnikov's blog, which is comprised almost entirely of excerpts from books he reads. This appeals to me on three levels.

First of all, the blog is a good resource. Sometimes a passage gives you a better feel for a book than a dust jacket blurb or endorsement. If you're an avid reader, I'm sure some of it will pique your interest. And if you're not the sort who's likely to pick up something by, say, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, you may still be interested in reading a snippet of his writing that someone else found interesting.

Raskolnikov's project is also interesting to me because it's a kind of an anti-blog. It seems the blogosphere (and indeed, a fair chunk of the internet in general) is primarily a mechanism for broadcasting the thoughts, opinions and experiences of anyone with enough free time and self-importance to proclaim them.* In such a culture a mysterious, apparently Russian bookworm, a man (woman?) who resists entirely the urge to rant, ramble or pontificate on whatever strikes his fancy, who presents instead the thoughts of better thinkers, the words of better writers, is something of an anti-hero. A rascal, if you will.

And sometimes when I read this blog I feel a little of what I've felt in the presence of a Torah scroll. I sense a kind of holiness in copied words that is lost in printing presses and electronic databases. I'm not sure how well I can articulate this, but I feel like there's inherent value in copying out a text - value beyond whatever readers may get out of it. I guess I see it as a way of identifying oneself with the words, something like repeating liturgy or submitting to religious rules. Maybe I'm making too much of this - in my experience, actually copying texts is pretty mundane. But I guess most spiritual disciplines, in practice, feel mundane to me.

*My opinion of we bloggers is not so bleak as this paragraph might suggest. There are two sides to the coin. But it's refreshing to me to read a blog so free of the (often unwarrented) self-interest that seems to be inherent in the medium.

The Word made Flesh

2008-02-28T23:31:00.000-07:00

From Come Be My Light, part of a poem by Mother Teresa in response to Jesus' question, "Who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16:15):

Jesus is the Word made Flesh.
Jesus is the Bread of Life.
Jesus is the Victim offered for our sins on the Cross.
Jesus is the Sacrifice offered at the Holy Mass
for the sins of the world and mine.
Jesus is the Word--to be spoken.
Jesus is the Truth--to be told.
Jesus is the Way--to be walked.
Jesus is the Light--to be lit.
Jesus is the Life--to be lived.
Jesus is the Love--to be loved.
Jesus is the Joy--to be shared.
Jesus is the Peace--to be given.
Jesus is the Bread of Life--to be eaten.
Jesus is the Hungry--to be fed
Jesus is the Thirsty--to be satiated.
Jesus is the Naked--to be clothed.
Jesus is the Homeless--to be taken in.
Jesus is the Sick--to be healed.
Jesus is the Lonely--to be loved.
Jesus is the Unwanted--to be wanted.
Jesus is the Leper--to wash his wounds.
Jesus is the Beggar--to give him a smile.
Jesus is the Drunkard--to listen to him.
Jesus is the Retarded--to protect him.
Jesus is the Little One--to embrace him.
Jesus is the Blind--to lead him.
Jesus is the Dumb--to speak for him.
Jesus is the Crippled--to walk with him.
Jesus is the Drug Addict--to befriend him.
Jesus is the Prostitute--to remove from danger and befriend.
Jesus is the Prisoner--to be visited.
Jesus is the Old--to be served.

It reminds me of that story from Matthew 25 (the implications of which struck me a few years ago).

If you're aware of the central theme of this book - Mother Teresa's spiritual darkness - you would probably assume that the title is her plea to God. In fact, the opposite is true. "Come, be My light" were the words by which Christ called Mother Teresa to Calcutta.

I think the call can be understood in two ways. The obvious meaning is that Mother Teresa was to be a conduit of Christ's light to the poor, through her compassion and service. As she says above, "Jesus is the Light--to be lit."

But the latter part of the poem reveals a second meaning: Jesus is not only the source of the light but also, in some sense, the one to whom we bring light. When we feed and clothe and love other people, in a very real sense we are feeding and clothing and loving Christ.

This is something I need to work on - seeing Jesus in the people around me, and especially those in need. There is no need for me to discern who is deserving of my love. Every day I see Christ, as Mother Teresa said, in many "distressing disguises". My highest calling is to love him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, however he may present himself to me.

I pray that my eyes may be opened, to see the Word made Flesh.

Come Be My Light

2008-02-22T23:38:00.001-07:00

I've been reading Come Be My Light - a sort of spiritual biography of Mother Teresa, based on her personal letters. These letters reveal that despite a dramatic call from God to ministry in Calcutta, Mother Teresa abruptly ceased to feel his presence when she arrived, and conducted the rest of her life in spiritual darkness and sorrow. (An article in Time offers more details. Via Michigan.)

I found the book less challenging and inspiring than I'd hoped - I am so unlike Mother Teresa that I scarcely believe we're of the same species, and I could no more love like her than write like Shakespeare. And while she and I have both experienced disappointment with God, hers was vastly different in content, degree and duration. The book is interesting (if a bit slow-moving) and has certainly increased my respect - nay, awe - of Mother Teresa, but at the expense of any hope I had of relating or empathizing with her.

More than ever I understand the impulse to pray to saints. Mother Teresa reached a peace about her inner darkness and saw her suffering as a means for God to bring others to salvation. On the back cover is this quote: "If I ever become a Saint--I will surely be one of 'darkness.' I will continually be absent from Heaven--to light the light of those in darkness on earth."

It reminded me of the Buddhist idea of a Bodhisattva: a person who achieves enlightenment (Buddhahood) but who refrains from entering Nirvana indefinitely in order to free others from suffering. (It also reminds me of the first verses of Romans 9, my least favorite chapter in the Bible, in which Paul makes a statement so powerful and so beautiful that I almost forgive him the rest.) Greater love, I contend, has no one than this.

I said earlier that I can hardly believe I'm of the same species as Mother Teresa. But I am, and that's the whole point. She was no angel-messenger come down from heaven. No god among mortals, no Word-made-flesh. She was a woman. A mortal like myself, and a sinner. However different she was in her character, experiences and actions, we are somehow of the same essence, and I feel a kinship with her that I could have with no higher being. Transcendent in love and holiness, she is near to me yet in her frailty and finitude.

Pray for me, Mother. Saint of Darkness, be my light.

Community

2008-02-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back. I don't know if I'm going to keep doing this or what. I've got things to write about, but I don't know if I have the time or the motivation. We'll see how it goes.

What I've been thinking about most recently is community, as it pertains to Christian life. Winter Camp, as usual, was amazing. I seem to be at my best when I'm at camp. I don't think this is unusual.

It seems like we tend to separate community from the rest of life. We go on retreats or whatever and we have these great experiences of intimacy and commonality and it's refreshing and inspiring. And then we go back to our real world and try to live our lives the way we wanted to or thought we were going to when we were at camp.

Why do we live like this? I know that I can't live at home the way I can at camp. Maybe that's a failure on my part. Maybe I'm supposed to be able to be able to transcend my circumstances and feelings and be loving and purposeful all the time. But I think it's easier to change my environment than to stop being affected by it.

I know its not always possible to create an ideal environment. I know things get in the way, or things fall apart, and I can't just hide from the world at camp or somewhere. But I don't think I should have to choose between being in community and being in the world.

I want to live in a community. A focused, structured, missional community. I want to have people around me who are committed to the same goal, and committed to me. I want people to serve, and to serve with. I want people to guide me and encourage me and touch me and share their lives with me.

I don't think I'm being greedy or unrealistic. I think this is the way I'm meant to live. And I think I can do it.

I don't know how all the details will work, but I'm trying to figure it out. Maybe I'll join a monastery. I hear there are Franciscans in town. Maybe I'll hook up with the New Monastics. Maybe I'll run away to L'abri for a bit. Maybe I could start my own thing. I don't know.

I'm open to ideas.

Happy Holidays

2007-12-23T21:51:00.000-07:00

Hi.

Sorry about my much-longer-than-expected absence. I've been (and continue to be) busy and distracted and a little bit writers blocked. There probably won't be much here until Januaryish.

I do have things to say, but I'm having trouble getting them down in writing. This happens to me sometimes.

In the mean time, here's another gem from xkcd:

Stuff

2007-11-28T23:23:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry for the lack of posts recently. I'm midway through my end-of-term essay writing frenzy. By this time next week I will be free.

Until then, here's some stuff:

Apparently this blog reads at an undergrad level.

I'm more than a little skeptical. Not sure what the creator was reading in college, but it clearly wasn't Kierkegaard.

I'd like to think that the average high schooler could make sense of my writing, but I guess I do use big words sometimes.

Here's a shocker: apparently this blog is worthy of a NC-17 rating. Why? Primarily my liberal use of the words "pain" and "hell". Riiiight.

Good thing the kiddies can't read it anyways.

And have you ever wondered where I fit in the wide world of Christian theology? Wonder no more!

What's your theological worldview?
You scored as a Emergent/Postmodern
You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

Emergent/Postmodern
89%
Modern Liberal
64%
Classical Liberal
61%
Neo orthodox
54%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan
43%
Roman Catholic
32%
Charismatic/Pentecostal
25%
Reformed Evangelical
14%
Fundamentalist
0%

That sounds about right. I confess I don't know much about Neo Orthodoxy, Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyanism, or the differences between Modern and Classical Liberalism. (Anyone care to enlighten me?) But I do like what I've heard about the Emergent church (primarily via Brian McLaren), and the blurb at the top sounds pretty good to me.

Want to see your theology expressed as a bar graph? Of course you do! Take the quiz here.

And a few links for good measure:

Here's the most interesting thing I've seen this week (via slacktivist).

Jim at Straight, Not Narrow weighs in on the "War on Christmas".

My current favorite web comic is xkcd.

Real Live Preacher

2007-11-12T22:28:00.002-07:00

Note (July 08): I've updated the links in this post - most of these stories are now in the rlp archives. Just so you know. Also, at this point the Preacher is no longer shipping his books, which is a shame. I trust he'll start again at some point.

I recently read RealLivePreacher.com (the book), by Gordon Atkinson. I finally bought a copy because the Preacher is now selling them personally (there's a story behind that, if you're interested). Each book now comes with a little handwritten note and a couple random objects stuck between the pages.

Nearly all the essays in the book can also be read on his blog, but for some reason it's exciting to have them in tactile form. And as a bonus, I now have a slightly risque free beer token from some pub in Texas, a CD of Mexican music, and a packet of vanilla chai tea.

The book is worth buying, even if you're not an avid reader of the blog. It's kind of a "best of", and it makes a good introduction to the Preacher. Most of my very favorites are there, such as:

The Preacher's Story
George the Middle, Beginning and End
The two about Rabbi Jonah and Robert
The Advent and Passion of Elliot
John the Baptist (still cracks me up)
Bifocals

These are excellent stories. I don't like to throw around the words "must read", but I'm tempted to invoke them here.

And if you want to read more, here are a few good ones that didn't make the book:

The Truth About Snow
The Soft Stories series - Old Man Cedar, Chloe, Looking For Elliot and Main's Folly
The Gospel According To Anna
The Foy Davis series

The Preacher also wrote an excellent dramatic version of the Christmas Story, which is now available as an audiobook. It's beautiful and insightful, and well worth purchasing.

I Want To Pray To Mary

2007-11-06T23:15:00.000-07:00

Hail Mary, full of grace.
The Lord is with you.
Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.

It's such a beautiful prayer. So poetic. Reverent, but warm. Grace, blessing, holiness, a plea for intercession, and an acknowledgment of mortality. You could not write a better prayer.

The problem is I don't believe that Mary stuff. I don't believe she has some special power or authority, and I can't help but feel that God doesn't approve of me praying to a dead woman. Particularly because I don't believe in it. I don't have a problem with those pray and believe it, but I feel like I shouldn't, because I don't.

I say the prayer and the words are hot in my mouth. They taste like swear-words tasted in grade two, like beauty tinged with blasphemy.

Will God forgive me this prayer? I don't pray much. Will God appreciate the reverence of this prayer, how it makes me aware of my need for grace and help, and the feeling of comfort and security it brings me? Or is He angry that I long to pray to a mortal, but have so little to say to Him?

I firmly believe that it doesn't matter what name we give to God. He's called a thousand names; I think He can figure out who we mean. And I don't think He minds that most of us pray to a well groomed, Caucasian Jesus. But "Mary" is not a name I have for God.

Even "Mother" doesn't bother me. Nothing wrong with a Mother God, whatever Johnny Cash says. (That line about the father hen really pisses me off.) But Mother of God is something else.

Maybe I can't do it. That makes me sad.

But I can certainly say "La Elaha Ela Allah". It doesn't have quite the same feel to it, but it's beautiful and meaningful, and I think I really believe it.

La Elaha Ela Allah.

There is no god but God. So I probably shouldn't pray to Her mother.

On Pain and Its Redemption

2007-10-24T17:42:00.000-06:00

I got thinking recently about the idea that all the suffering we experience is ultimately for our own good. It's true that we often seem to become stronger, wiser, more compassionate, and so on, as a result of hardship. Perhaps God is justified in allowing or causing pain because ultimately the good it produces in us outweighs the inherent evil of our suffering.

For most of us (Kantians may disagree), the ethicality of inflicting pain on someone "for their own good" is a question of ratios. How much pain are we talking about? How much good may result? How likely is the desired result, how devastating the worst case scenario, etc. I think we can agree that disciplining children, in a reasonable and restrained way, is necessary and good. Few of us would wish that we had never experienced pain, and perhaps some of us who have experienced great pain believe that it ultimately worked for our benefit or betterment. It's difficult to speculate about what a completely pain-free creation might look like, but I'm willing to concede that a certain amount of pain (perhaps much more than I would think) is necessary in order to make us what we are meant to be.

Still, it's hard to imagine all the pain we experience having a positive effect. I don't have a problem with God putting us through adversity, but sometimes it feels like He's pruning with a canon. Pain seems to weaken or destroy people as often as it heals them.

It's not the existence of pain that bothers me. It's not even the amount, strictly. (It certainly looks excessive to me, but who am I to say what's necessary?) What horrifies me about pain is that it seems to be distributed completely at random. Pain falls in great mounds and bare spots, choking many of us with more than we can bear and leaving some with less than they need. Could it be that the God who wrote the laws of physics and wove our DNA allows suffering to rain down on us, but cannot regulate the flow? Or am I to believe that tsunamis and genocides are doled out with eyedropper precision? How then can I account for those who are overwhelmed and ruined by extraordinary pain?

In my attempts to account for what seems to be a profligacy of suffering, I feel that I have a choice between two extremes: either I must believe that God is in way over his head, powerless to reign in the horrific and gratuitous suffering of so many of his creatures, or else I must believe that God's power far surpasses even my wildest dreams.

Please do not confuse the latter god with that of orthodox Christianity. I'm talking about a god who possesses power and a plan that far surpasses what any religion permits me to hope for. A god who is at work on something wholly beyond my understanding - a god who will not merely bring an end to suffering, but who secretly collects every drop of senseless pain and evil and works it all for some greater good.

I don't see a place for a middle-strength god - one who commands the wind and the waves but cannot stop hurricanes and tsunamis, who saves forever His elect, but loses the rest of creation to hellfire.

I don't think the profusion of senseless and destructive suffering is a mere misperception. I see evil in this world that no theodicy can account for, and no god I've heard of could possibly set right. I do not have the ability to be optimistic about the ultimate goodness of our suffering. My only choices are dark pessimism, or wild, desperate hope.

What I Learned About Quakers

2007-10-14T23:30:00.000-06:00

I attended a Quaker church last Sunday. He's what I think of when I think Quakers:
1. Underground railroad
2. Old-fashioned clothes, like the the oatmeal guy.
3. Pacifism
4. Mysticism
Pretty good list. I've always thought Quakers were awesome, even though I didn't know much about them.

Well it turns out Quaker meetings are boring as hell. Seriously, this may have been the most boring church service I have ever attended in my life. But not in a bad way. I mean, I can imagine it being good if I was a different person. Basically it was 45 minutes of silence, followed by a brief open sharing time. People just talked about what they'd been thinking about; none of it was overtly "spiritual".

So I'm not likely to attend their meetings on a regular basis, but I am pretty much in love with them. Specifically their beliefs and values. Their big thing is that each of us individually is guided by God, and that this guidance, not the Bible, is our ultimate authority. They don't believe in creeds, religious hierarchies, or church rituals. Sometimes I wonder if Christians really believe we're indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and what we might look like if we did. Maybe we'd look like the Quakers.

So they're radically individualistic, and also really into experiencing God, in a low key, mystical kind of way, but they're also big on community. That's why they come together to sit quietly for an hour: apparently they're actually seeking some kind of communal mystical experience with God. They get awesome points for putting the words "communal" and "mystical" in the same sentence.

They're so serious about this that they make decisions by consensus. They have no church leadership of any kind. Instead they have business meetings were they each listen to what they feel is God's leading and then they talk about it until the all agree.

Also, they're extremely egalitarian, and have been since the beginning. Not only did they oppose slavery, but since their conception in the 17th century Quakers have refused to acknowledge class distinctions and have treated women as social and spiritual equals. (Who would have guessed the Quaker Oats guy was a feminist?)

Other cool things: they dress plainly, they've never been anti-intellectual, they don't distinguish between the sacred and the secular, they don't believe in telling lies or attempting to deceive in any way, they'd sooner go to jail than fight in a war, and they welcome non-Christians as full members of their communities. You can be a Muslim, a Buddhist, or an Atheist and also be a Quaker.

(Apparently there's a more conservative branch of Quakers which places more emphasis on the Bible and conducts slightly more conventional meetings. The statements above are generalities, and are probably more accurate for liberal Quakers.)

I know not all of you will be as impressed by this stuff as I am, but whatever you think about their beliefs (or however boring you find their meetings) you have to respect these people for the way they live their convictions. Besides the anti-slavery stuff, Quakers won the 1947 Nobel Peace Prize, and have been involved in the founding of organizations like Greenpeace, Oxfam, and Amnesty International.

Ebenezer Scrooooge

2007-10-04T23:29:00.000-06:00

I attended the St Joseph's College Chapel this week. I liked it. It still had that high church feel, but was small enough to feel cozy. They read the story of the rich man and Lazarus, which I found confusing. Here's the last bit:

"Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father's house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment."

Abraham replied, "They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them."

"No, father Abraham," he said, "but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent."

He said to him, "If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead."
- Luke 16:27-31

I find that hard to believe. Does Jesus really think that people who don't listen to scripture won't be moved by miracles? Don't we all know people who repented only after experiencing a miracle? And didn't miracles accompanied the words of God throughout the scriptures, particularly in the cases of "Moses and the Prophets"?

Didn't God preform many miracles through Moses to give authority to his message?

Didn't Elijah, the greatest of the prophets, call down fire from heaven to prove to Israel that his God was the true God?

Didn't Jesus give his witnesses miraculous power, and wasn't the performance of miracles a cornerstone of evangelism in the early church? Wasn't the great missionary Paul converted as the direct result of a miracle (specifically, an encounter with a dead man)?

Didn't Jesus himself augment his teaching with miracles? Didn't he use these miracles to shock people, to make them think, and to establish his authority as a messenger from God?

And isn't Jesus' own resurrection from the dead the cornerstone of Christianity? Didn't this great miracle (the very thing that the parable says would change no one's mind) open the disciples' eyes to the truth of Jesus' message?

This parable's perspective on miracles sounds very modern to me. People are always trying to tell me that we don't get a lot of miracles these days because people wouldn't listen to them anyway, and the Bible by itself should be enough to convince anyone. I don't see that anywhere in the Bible ...except here. Can anyone explain this to me? Can this passage be harmonized with the flashy methods of prophecy and evangelism that pervade the Bible? (I've included a few biblical counterpoints below.) Does anyone believe that people who reject the Bible would not be moved even by an encounter with a dead man?

I will not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me in leading the Gentiles to obey God by what I have said and done— by the power of signs and miracles, through the power of the Spirit.
- Ro 15:18-19

But I will come to you very soon, if the Lord is willing, and then I will find out not only how these arrogant people are talking, but what power they have. For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power.
- 1 Cor 4:19-20

And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith.
- 1 Cor 15:14

Hell and Justice

2007-09-26T11:34:00.000-06:00

I've been rethinking hell. It's been along time since I took seriously the idea that humanity deserves eternal suffering. But I decided I should try to make a cool-headed assessment of the various possibilities. I’ve approached this by considering what might constitute a just cause for damnation.

1. Anything at all, or even nothing
This is the view that God needs no reason for causing his creatures infinite suffering. Rather than God being just because He acts justly, His actions are just because they're performed by God. God alone makes the rules; there are no transcendent moral laws by which He abides. The interesting and troubling implication of this view is that there is nothing inherently wrong about any action, however horrific it may seem to us. So the only reason why rape is wrong is that God says "Don't rape people". If God didn't command us not to rape, there would be nothing wrong with rape.

So is justice a transcendent law, or merely a part of creation? I suspect that most of us can imagine something an almighty God would be capable of doing which would be wrong. (He may in fact be prevented from doing it by His inherently just nature, but that's another issue.) I think causing immeasurable suffering to a helpless and undeserving creature is an example of something that would be unjust even for God. Consequently, if we are to believe in damnation, we must believe that it is something we deserve.

But you could take the opposite position - that anything God could possibly do or command would be just. My problem with this, besides the effect it has on my stomach, is that this makes justice kind of an empty concept. How can we make sense of saying "God is just" if "just" simply means "what God is"? If all God’s qualities are understood this way, it’s difficult to understand why He’s worthy of worship or obedience or love.

2. Someone else's sin
So if I've established that God is in some way constrained to act justly, the next question is whether (or to what extent) I understand what justice is. Is it possible that my own intuitions about justice could be wildly mistaken, and that justice permits - or even requires - one person to be punished for the sins of another? I'm don't think I could imagine anything that seems more fundamentally unjust, but it appears that at least some biblical authors disagree. Could it be that every one of us is guilty and deserving of damnation because of our ancestors' sins? That even infants who do not have free will and thus have never sinned are nonetheless under the righteous wrath of God? I have a hard time believing that my moral intuitions - intuitions which I'm told are given to me by God, those same gut feelings that tells me rape and murder are wrong - are so drastically mistaken on this point. The idea that we are justly found guilty of crimes we have not committed is beyond my imagination.

If this is justice, am I meant to comprehend it? Might I some day understand rationally that children are guilty of their parents' sins, and that every one of us really deserves to burn for Adam's disobedience? Or is it something that I must take on faith? If I were to try to believe that what seems to me the most grievous of all possible injustices is, in some unfathomable way, completely just, I would have to have to have enormous confidence in the source of this doctrine, and in my correct understanding of it. I'm a long way away.

3. One's own sin
If we accept that God acts justly, and that our understanding of justice is not wholly mistaken, we can move on to the question of eternal punishment. I fully understand that I am an imperfect creature, both by nature (which is not my doing, and for which I am not deserving of punishment) and continual choice (for which I do deserve punishment). I recognize that I do not deserve to stand before a holy God because of my willful unholiness. But do I deserve infinite punishment for my finite sin? If I've decided to believe that there is such a thing as justice apart from the will or whims of God, and that it is at least somewhat comprehensible to me, can I make sense of the idea that unending torment is a fitting punishment for finite sins?

The first thing we have to get out of the way is the idea that some people deserve eternal torment and others don't. If there were any relationship between the degree of sin and the degree of punishment, no one could possibly deserve infinite punishment. As creatures with finite wills and powers, living finite lives in finite worlds, we cannot do infinite evil. So either Hitler does not deserve eternal suffering, or you and I and Mother Teresa all deserve it as well. If we believe in eternal punishment we must sever the intuitive link between the severity of a crime and the severity of its punishment.

Which is a hell of a task. Even ignoring the mind-boggling prospect of infinite suffering, can we accept that all crimes are deserving of equal punishment? Can we accept that a lie is precisely as damning as an act of genocide? I can't see how.

Once again, we cannot say that we're so evil we deserve eternal punishment. Either we deserve it because we are less than absolutely perfect, or we do not deserve it. Is eternal torment just punishment for the smallest imaginable sin? Again, I can't see how.

My conclusion at this point is I don’t believe a just God would punish anyone with eternal suffering. This is not the same as believing there is no hell. I've by no means considered all possibilities here, but it's a start. I may consider other options in a subsequent post. Anyway, let me know if you disagree on any point.

Church Hopping

2007-09-16T21:49:00.000-06:00

I'm still here. I'm just kind of busy. I have a big messy post in the works and I'm having a hard time finding the time and energy to finish it. Also, I haven't got around to looking into the non-Christian YECs a recent commenter suggested. I'll let you know what I think when I get to them, either in the comments or a new post.

Just thought I'd let you all know about one of my projects for the immediate future. I've decided to stop going to my regular church, at least for a while, and check out a wide variety of other local churches. My main goal is to get a taste of many different ways of doing church (sort of a Generous Orthodoxy thing) and develop a basic familiarity with different denominations. And if I find a church where I feel like I fit in really well, that would be cool too.

I went to St Joseph's Basilica this week. I don't think I'm really a high church guy, but it's nice for a change. It's weird to think about how much money a building like that costs. I don't know whether an expense like that can be justified, even though it's really pretty. I have a hard time imagining Jesus of Nazareth approving of a building like that. On the other hand, he approved of spending a year's wages on perfume for his feet, and God himself ordered the construction of Solomon's temple. I don't know. Anyway, if anyone knows of an interesting, unique or awesome church in the Edmonton area, I'm open to suggestions.

Since I'm doing personal updates, my Bible-writing project has stalled. I've made it to about Matthew 15, but I haven't picked it up in a while. I still intend to.

The Problem With YEC

2007-09-06T23:29:00.000-06:00

I try to stay away from debates about the age of the earth or the methods by which God created life. For one thing I haven't done nearly enough research to have an educated opinion on the matter (although that doesn't stop a lot of people). For another, I don't particularly care.

I do recognize that for many people this is a serious issue. If the first two chapters of Genesis are not literal, historical truth, doubt is cast on the literal, historical truth of all other Bible stories. This is a valid concern, and I do care about how people interpret scripture, but I'd rather talk about that directly than get bogged down in some endless and tangential discussion of flood geology.

I'm not sure if anything could persuade me to take a real interest in Young Earth Creationism (YEC), but I would like to know whether I should regard it as anything more than fundamentalist dogma. I'm quite willing to give the theory any respect it may be due.

There are a couple of concerns that prevent me from taking YEC seriously. One is that I've observed what seems to be a widespread misunderstanding among it's proponents of words like "bias" and "presupposition", about which I have some knowledge, if not expertise. Having encountered what I believe to be incompetence among leading YECists in an area I know, I have difficulty giving them the benefit of the doubt in areas I do not. (I could say more about this, if you wish, but I won't go into it here and now.)

The second thing that prevents me from taking YEC seriously is that, as far as I know, conservative Christians are the only ones who believe any of it.

I stress the "as far as I know". I haven't actually searched for expert, non-Christian evolution or old earth skeptics. I sort of assume that if there were such people they would have been brought to my attention, but it's quite possible (what with me not really caring) that I may have missed them.

So how about it, YECs? Can anyone find a single person who fits the following description?

1. Is a recognized expert in a relevant field (eg. geology). Meaning he or she has a PhD in that field from a respected secular university, and is or was, if not at the top of his/her field, at least well respected by his/her peers.
2. Was not a YEC from the start. Meaning s/he was not raised as a conservative Christian and, without having examined it in detail, had always considered YEC to be mere religious dogma masquerading as science.
3. Now agrees with YEC about what the physical evidence indicates. Meaning that in the course of his/her research, this expert became convinced that the weight of evidence is against some well accepted cornerstone of atheistic evolution and now holds a position very like that of YECs. (Such as that there is strong evidence in the fossil record of a recent, global flood.)
4. Came to this belief on the basis of the physical evidence alone. Meaning that s/he did not convert to conservative Christianity and then change his/her mind about the evidence, but changed his/her mind before and independent of any religious conversion. It would be best if the expert was not a Christian at all.

If the YECists cannot produce such a person (and I don't know if they can or not, which is why I ask) I see no reason to take their position seriously.

Camp is Good

2007-08-18T15:16:00.000-06:00

This last week was really good, on the whole. I was a counselor, but with senior campers this time, which is way easier and more fun. My campers were really cool, and I was more at ease than I've ever been as a counselor before. I screwed up a few things, but I was satisfied with my effort.

I really like it here. I'm becoming more aware of the centrality of community to Christianity (that is, being a disciple of Jesus). And I love community, and it's good for me. Often when I'm at camp I have a hard time remembering what my problem with Christianity is. Maybe if it could be like this all the time, I could really start to believe stuff (whatever "believe" means). Maybe my non-relationship with God wouldn't be much of a barrier. Or maybe even that would change.

I feel wistful.

I don't think a whole lot about my post-student life (I graduate this year), but sometimes it gets me really excited. I don't have a clue what I'm going to do next, but I think it could be awesome. I'm young and I currently have no desire to get married; my options are endless. I'll hopefully travel, as soon as I have some money and a place to go and maybe someone to go with. I could get a job that doesn't pay much but brings me joy. I could join a monastery. I could sell everything I have and give it to the poor. I could literally do that.

That's all I've got for now. Counseling is not very conducive to thinking about stuff. But I probably think too much anyway. (Too much or not enough? I'm never sure.) Maybe I'll write you something profound in a day or two.

I Choose Love

2007-08-06T23:39:00.002-06:00

I didn't spend a lot of time on the discipleship thing this week. I was on maintenance, which is way more work than chore boying, because there's always another job that can be done. Harry Potter took up all my free time. This next week, by the way, I'll be counseling a teen camp. Prayers are appreciated.

So here's something that struck me recently. For some reason I got thinking about an episode of Adventures in Odyssey (a childrens' audio drama by Focus on the Family, which I listened to constantly as a kid). There's this one where a young guy's about to make the very great mistake of marrying a non-Christian, and the gravity of the situation is driven home by the sad story of his wise and elderly friend, who, it is revealed, had a non-Christian wife in his youth.

I think I'd always been told that Christians shouldn't marry non-Christians because their differing beliefs will be a barrier to intimacy and unity, strain the relationship, and cause disagreements about how the kids should be raised. Intriguingly, none of these concerns were addressed by the Odyssey episode. Instead, it emphasized the intense pain that Jack experienced on behalf of his dearly loved, deceased, and (as far as he knew) unsaved wife, who in all probability was already burning in hell.

It struck me that the implicit message here is, don't love non-Christians too much. Don't care too much about them. Don't feel for them too much of what God feels. Don't understand too deeply their immeasurable, inherent value, because if you do, and they die unsaved, you will see too clearly the incomparable tragedy and horror of hell, and it will break you.

This brings to light a very serious problem with (a certain kind of) Christianity: it both demands that we believe the majority of humanity will suffer eternally, and exhorts us to love others to the greatest degree of which we are capable. If we do both these things well, we are setting ourselves up for unparalleled and (I suspect) utterly crippling, destructive sorrow.

Immediately I can see two (and only two) solutions to this problem. Either we must refuse to believe in hell, or we must moderate our love. I choose not to believe in hell. (This is a more popular solution than you might think - many Christians claim to believe in hell but in reality do not, because they do not permit themselves to think about what they "believe", or allow it to affect their actions.) Focus on the Family (implicitly) recommends the other solution - that we not allow ourselves to care too deeply for those whom we believe will suffer eternally.

I choose to love, therefore I cannot believe in hell. I don't mean to say that I love greatly - if you are underwhelmed with my love, I assure you I am as well - but I love enough that I recoil from the idea of hell. I cannot accept it. Others may have stronger hearts, which can love more deeply before hell crushes them, but I don't believe any heart could survive loving to its utmost ability and believing in hell.

You can call me weak, or cowardly, or naive. I suppose I'm all of those things. But whatever my failings I want, more than anything, to love. I will pursue this zealously. And if my religion hinders me, I know what must be done. I will not be moderate. I will not make compromises.

I choose love, and for this I will not apologize.

The Cost of Discipleship

2007-07-29T16:45:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to decide whether I can be a disciple of Jesus (that is to say, a Christian). I don't think I agree with him about everything. Can I be a real disciple and think he got a few things wrong? (I don't like the idea of Jesus being fallible, but if I'm honest with myself, I guess that's what I believe.)

Which things do I think he got wrong, you say? I couldn't tell you off the top of my head. But I plan to look through the all the red text in my Bible this week and see if there's anything I really can't agree with. If I can pry myself away from Harry Potter.

I've been reading The Cost Of Discipleship. Bonhoeffer says that you can't have faith without obedience, nor obedience without faith. There's a brand of Christianity, which seems particularly popular in camp ministries, that emphasizes "faith" at the expense of obedience (this is what James denounces). Conversely, I'd rather practice obedience without faith. I would be content just to be obedient to Jesus (or just to try to be) but maybe obedience sans faith isn't true obedience. (Because faith makes obedience possible, or because believing is part of obeying?) So I'm trying to figure out whether I agree with Bonhoeffer, and if so, whether I'm capable of true obedience, or just a faithless facsimile.

Bonhoeffer complicates things by saying that we cannot choose to be disciples out of the blue; we must be called. I don't know what he means by "called" (it sounds very Kierkegaardian*) but it seems that (as with all spiritual experiences I'm supposed to have had) either I've failed to recognize God's call to me (how? and what do I do to correct this?) or I've not been called at all. Or maybe my conviction that I ought to pursue a life of servanthood and selflessness constitutes the call, but then why would Bonhoeffer make a big deal about the impossibility of obedience without a calling? Who tries to be a disciple without this conviction? I don't know. Anyone understand Bonhoeffer?

*Kierkegaard says that we each choose one of three life-governing principles: desire, reason, or faith. But the last is only open to those who have been called by God to do something crazy, like Abraham sacrificing Isaac. If you want to choose faith but you haven't been called, you're basically hooped. Similarly, Bonhoeffer seems to be saying that you can't possibly be a disciple of Christ if he hasn't called you (because of our sinfulness and inadequacy) although what the call looks like and how prevalent it is is unclear.

Just Briefly

2007-07-21T23:32:00.000-06:00

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.

So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me.

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

In other news, this last week was kind of difficult. The work was good, I enjoyed myself, but I felt very much at odds with the other staff. The speaker said a lot of things I thought he shouldn't have, and it made me wonder what I was doing there. Why do I invest so much of my time and energy in things I don't really believe in?

That's all I have for you.

It Really Does Say That

2007-07-14T11:51:00.000-06:00

If, in casual conversation with a certain sort of Christian, you said something like, "I think a person is justified by what he does, and not by faith alone", you might be called a heretic.

If you said, "I think the Bible says a person is justified by what he does, and not by faith alone", you might encounter surprise, incredulity, and even annoyance.

And if you said, "James 2:24 says 'a person is justified by what he does, and not by faith alone'", you might be treated to a long and nuanced hermeneutical discourse, to the effect that the passage does not in fact say anything like what it appears to say.

But if you suggested to that same person that passages dealing with homosexuality, or women's roles, or the origin of humanity don't say what they appear to say, you might be accused of twisting the Word of God to fit your own agenda. This strikes me as inconsistant.

What Bugged Me About Junior Camp

2007-07-09T23:19:00.000-06:00

First of all, thank you to all who though of me, prayed for me, or left me encouragements or advice over the past week. The camp went relatively well, I thought. At least, I was satisfied with the effort I turned in.

The thing about junior campers (and my cabin was the most junior of all) is that they tend to be both incapable and uninterested in discussing spiritual matters in any great depth. It's a little bit discouraging to put so much energy into a week with no discernible results, but the whole thing went about as well as I could have hoped.

The one thing that I found difficult that week was talking to kids about "the Gospel" - a concept with which I've become so disenchanted that I have difficulty speaking of it without the aid of quote marks. On the one hand, I think that making a one-time decision to identify with Christianity, to ask God to forgive all your sins, and so forth, can be a meaningful - perhaps even life-altering - experience. But on the other hand, I think it's a little dishonest for me to encourage a nine-year-old to make this ostensibly eternal decision merely in the hopes that it will be "a positive experience for them". For that matter, I'm not sure how I feel about anyone prodding kids this age to "accept" Jesus. If I really wanted to, I could make most of them accept just about anything. Who are we trying to kid?

I feel a lot better about evangelizing senior campers, because they're somewhat more capable of making an rational decision. Curiously, it seems that the pray-to-accept-Jesus bit gets a lot more play at junior camps than senior camps. I wonder why that is. I hope it's not just because they're easy targets.

It wasn't a bad week, on the whole. But I don't think I'll be counseling another junior camp any time soon.

My Predicament

2007-06-27T23:24:00.000-06:00

I'll soon be a camp counselor again. That still feels weird. I'd sort of gotten used to the idea of never counseling again, or at least, not counseling any time soon. But somebody wanted me, so I decided to give it another shot. Counseling is something I do because it's challenging, not because I'm very good at it or particularly enjoy it. It tends to put me in curious spiritual predicaments.

There are times when I'm at camp that I feel very Christian. At times faith (or credulity) comes easier to me there, surrounded by dedicated, godly people, and doing overtly spiritual work. There are times at camp when it seems very reasonable to me that prayer would powerfully affect the physical world. There are times when God seems near - if not emotionally, then at least intellectually - and I wonder if I'm silly to be so skeptical during the other ten months.

But at other times (particularly when I'm counseling) camp is where I feel most strongly that there is no God. When I'm at the end of the rope, when I'm fed up and tired and don't know what to do, it's really difficult for me to believe that praying or trusting will somehow make the situation better. God never seems more distant than the times when I need him most.

This puts me in a bit of a predicament. I really believe that if I can keep my focus and maintain a positive attitude, I can be a good counselor. I believe that I sink or swim on the basis of my skill, my strength and dedication. But then I think, if I make this all about me and my abilities, then what the hell am I doing here? This is a ministry. It's about facilitating a connection between my kids and God (although I'm not sure what exactly that means, or if I've experienced it myself) and if I'm not relying on him to guide me and empower me, I'm probably just wasting everyone's time. And yet I can't help but believe that my success as a counselor (or anything else) is a result of my ability and preparation, and that no amount of prayer or trust can save me.

This worries me. A good counselor - an able counselor - shouldn't think this way. How did I get into this? The answer, I suppose is that the camp needed me, and trusted me (trusted my ability, I suppose), and I trusted their discernment. Maybe one of us trusted too much.

If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.
- James 1:5-8

Where does that leave me? I want to do this right, but I can't make myself believe. Maybe I'm over-thinking this. I am what I am; all I can do is my best. And if He's all He's cracked up to be, I imagine He can work through or in spite of my modest abilities and meager faith.

Other Religions: A Conclusion

2007-06-15T20:51:00.000-06:00

Devoted readers may remember that one of my projects for this last year was looking into other religions. I had two goals: to better understand what attracts people to different religions, and to see if there was anything out there that suited me better than Christianity.

The answer to the second question, at this point, is no. I didn't do a great amount of attending services and whatnot, but I talked to a few people and took a couple classes and nothing leaped out at me.

Buddhism was the most appealing. I attended a couple of classes with a local Buddhist group and appreciated their practical focus and easygoing attitude. I like how Buddhism adapts to the needs of specific cultures, and its recognition that people are on different journeys, and what works for some people doesn't work for others. Regrettably, I found meditation extremely difficult and entirely ineffective. Perhaps I can be a Buddhist in my next life.

Judaism was very interesting, but also not my cup of tea. I doesn't help that many of my greatest difficulties with Christianity stem from the Hebrew Scriptures. Also, Jewish services are conducted largely in Hebrew, which I'm not particularly interested in learning.

I didn't look too deeply into Islam, but I learned three things that turned me off: Islam in general takes a very fundamentalist view of scripture, the Qur'an focuses on Hell much more than the Bible, and Islam is essentially political. It could never work out between us.

So the bad news is I haven't found anything I can really, whole-heartedly belong to. The good news is I'm becoming increasingly comfortable with who I am. I don't feel the need to fit into any specific category. I don't need to be a Christian or a Muslim or an Atheist or whatever. There are things about Christianity that resonate with me, and things that don't. There are aspects of other religions or worldviews or philosophies that seem meaningful or true to me, and I want to incorporate them into my beliefs and practices. I suppose I'm a Christian in the sense that I'm a member of a Christian community, and Jesus is probably the central figure in my worldview, but I don't have a desire to impose any specific boundaries around my spiritual or intellectual or moral life. I'm a pilgrim.

I'm Not A Disciple

2007-06-06T22:54:00.000-06:00

I've recently begun thinking of myself as a disciple of Christ. I believe that Jesus called his followers not primarily to a belief system or a religion or a series of rituals, but to a lifestyle modeled after his own life and teachings.

The word "disciple", as I've said before, is not one that I'm entirely comfortable with. But I console myself that the original 12 were not spiritual supermen. At least, not initially. If a group of misguided, half-hearted, faithless, gutless, selfish outcasts can be disciples of Jesus, I figured maybe I'd fit right in.

But I was writing out Matthew 7 the other day (which gives you an idea of how slowly my project is going) and stumbled across the famous story of the wise and foolish builders:

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. ... But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand."
-Matt 7:24,26

This is the conclusion to the longest - and probably the most challenging - sermon recorded in the Bible. First Jesus says blessed are the meek and the mourners, and lust is as bad as adultery, and turn the other cheek, and love your enemies, and don't worry about where your next meal is coming from, and ask and it will be given, and (my personal favorite) be perfect, like God. Then he says, in effect, "follow my teaching, or you're headed for destruction". No wonder people were amazed.

I suddenly remembered that discipleship is serious business. You don't call yourself someone's disciple because you respect them, or you agree with them on certain points. A disciple is someone who is whole-heartedly committed to imitating and obeying his master. There are no part-time disciples.

Honestly, I don't agree with everything Jesus said. I agree with him more than most people in the Bible, but I'd be lying if I said I even wanted to submit to everything he taught. So I probably shouldn't call myself his disciple. At least, not yet.

Lukewarm

2007-05-26T23:05:00.000-06:00

I'm sorry for not posting in a while. I've been feeling lazy and brain-tired. My scribing project is going slowly. Anyway, here's my most recent interesting thought:

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.
-Revelation 3:15-18

We looked at this passage in church last week. It's pretty tough stuff - "scary" is how someone put it - and it got me thinking about all the times in the Bible when God tells someone they suck. The prophets do a lot of that. Jesus spends a whole chapter railing on the Pharisees. There's the "Away from me evildoers" bit, and so on.

Here's what I noticed: I can't think of a time in the Bible when God rebukes people who are already aware of/feeling bad about their failings. I think the Laodiceans' real problem wasn't that they were "wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked"; God has a solution for that. Their problem was that they didn't realize that they were wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. They thought they were pretty good. Honestly, I'm not sure what is meant by "buy from me gold refined in the fire", etc. It seems that "wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked" is not the universal human condition, and that God expects us to transcend it, with his help. But I don't know how that works.

Anyway, it's comforting to think that God isn't angry with me for my wretchedness, and although he wants to see me cleaned up, he doesn't expect me to do it myself.

I'm Tired and I Hurt All Over

2007-05-07T20:43:00.000-06:00

I took a bit of a tumble on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs today. It was my first day of framing, and it was kind of long and quite grueling. I have a big post in the works, but it's only half-way thought through, and I'm not at all in the right frame of mind for that kind of thing. I fear I may not be my usual perspicacious self over the next couple months.

In other news, I'm finished the first five chapters of Matthew in my copy-the-New-Testament project. I've yet to go a full two pages without a scribal error, giving me new appreciation for those who carefully preserved these texts over the centuries. No profound insights yet, but so far the process has been considerably less tedious than expected. I would rather copy the Bible eleven hours a day than haul wood around, but I don't imagine I would make much money at it.

Scrolls and Scribes

2007-04-28T23:01:00.000-06:00

The first time I saw a Torah scroll was in the special collections library at the University of Alberta. The scroll was beautiful. It was about three feet wide, made of parchment, and hand-written in ancient Hebrew, in strictly measured rows and columns. Like all Torah scrolls, it contained the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, and was written laboriously by a professional scribe over about a year. Like all scrolls, every line is the same length and contains the same words, and in every scroll there are precisely the same 304,805 Hebrew letters.

A new scroll will cost a synagogue something in the neighborhood of eighty thousand dollars. A synagogue's scroll is stored in an ark at the front, and every Sabbath it is taken out and carried up and down the aisles, and the congregants touch it with their prayer books, and then touch the books to their lips. The synagogues keep their scrolls in a beautiful fabric case, and decorate them with ornamental breastplates and crowns. I later learned that the University's scroll originated in what is now the Czech Republic, and is centuries old.

I felt a kind of awe when I saw this scroll for the first time. To be within a couple feet of something so old, so beloved and sacred, is quite an experience. Traditional Jews believe that the Torah was verbally inspired, word for word, to Moses on Mt. Sinai. They believe it was written at that time in the same form and the exact Hebrew letters and words in which it is now preserved, that the scroll I saw was a perfect preservation of the very words of Almighty G-d.

I've thought since then about the 17th century Czech scribe who wrote that scroll, and many others identical to it, one each year throughout his adult life. It's a very prestigious job, a high calling, but it must also be extraordinarily boring - a monotonous and meticulous process of copying 300,000 letters one by one, with exactly the right calligraphic flourishes.

I mentioned the scrolls and the scribes to a friend recently, and she decided she wants to write out the whole Old Testament by hand. I thought it was a great idea, but I doubt I have the patience to get through even the first five books. A good chunk of the Old Testament is unspeakably boring. But the New Testament might be manageable.

So on Thursday I bought a book with a black cover and thick, blank pages, and on Friday I bought two good pens. I won't follow the any of the strict rules of the Jewish scribes and I won't try to wrest my scrawl into an elegant script, but I will attempt to copy neatly and accurately the whole text of the NIV New Testament by hand.

I decided to do this for a number of reasons. For one thing, I hope it will help me develop patience and perseverance. I also hope that it will force me to read carefully through the text and not rush past the parts that don't interest me, or that I just don't like. I imagine it will be difficult for me to copy passages such as Romans 9, but maybe doing so will foster a sense of humility and reverence for the book. Maybe putting so much effort into the Bible will make it feel more meaningful or valuable or something. Or maybe I'll just get sick of it. I'll keep you posted.

The Jews and Their Book

2007-04-21T23:16:00.000-06:00

I took a Judaism class this semester. I hoped that a Jewish perspective would shed some light on some of my many confusions and frustrations with the Bible, and especially the Old Testament. I've felt for some time that Christians (of course I don't mean all Christians) have a tendency to ignore or distort the more troublesome aspects of the Old Testament by emphasizing the supremacy of the New. How do we deal with a God who punishes whole nations, and even their slaves, for the sins of their kings? For many of us, it is enough that he doesn't seem to do these things anymore, and that Jesus was a really nice, gentle guy. Surely the God who demonstrated such love and grace in the New Testament would not do anything cruel or unjust, so however cruel and unjust his old-covenant actions seem to be, they must really be motivated by compassion or righteousness or some other good, Jesus-y quality.

This doesn't do much for me.

I hoped that Judaism could offer me some insight into what the troubling parts of the Old Testament are really saying. As direct heirs of the patriarchs, the judges and the prophets, without the benefit of our "New and Improved" Testament, they must have some insight into the more vexing aspects of the Torah. That was my reasoning.

It turns out that modern Judaism has very little in common with its Biblical roots. The destruction of the Temple in the first century brought an abrupt end to the religion of Moses, in which animal sacrifice was central. Modern Jews of all persuasions have immense reverence for the Torah (Genesis through Deuteronomy) but in practice, it is not their most authoritative text. Judaism today is largely the product of the centuries of Rabbinical debates and commentaries that form the Talmud. It is understood that the various, often contradictory positions of the Rabbis are inspired by God, and that it is the Rabbis' responsibility to continuously reinterpret and adapt Judaism to meet the needs of their time, culture, and individual congregations. (The relative value of adaptation and tradition is the primary difference between Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Judaism.)

I was disappointed to hear that even the strictest Orthodox Jews no longer hold to many of the things that bother me most about the Bible. It's not that I think they should, really. I like the idea of continuous revelation. I think you could make a strong Biblical case for it, and I think it's more honest to say that we no longer believe certain things God has said because he reveals new things to new generations than to claim that we still believe everything God has said, and then twist or ignore the parts that don't fit with our modern intuitions. (I don't mean to suggest a dichotomy. I think there are other possibilities, but the latter approach seems to be quite popular among Christians.)

I was disappointed because I want to find someone who really believes in the God who sent the plagues on egypt, or who orders rape victims to marry their attackers, or who punishes children for their father's sins, to the four generations and beyond. I want find a champion for this God - someone who can explain why he should be worshiped or loved or believed in, or else who can explain to my satisfaction how these passages don't say what they seem to say. I don't know if I could be convinced that passages such as these are God-breathed, infallible truth, but I want to give them a fair shot.

My Judaism Professor said that much of the Torah is embarrassing to modern Jews. They certainly don't believe, for example, that God still commands genocidal war against immoral nations, but it is still problematic that, according to their scriptures, he used to. Jews, like Christians, seem to have found no good solution to this problem.

A Hole of a Different Shape

2007-04-16T22:28:00.000-06:00

The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."

...So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

The man said,
"This is now bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called 'woman,'
for she was taken out of man."

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.
-Gen 2:18-24

Something struck me today. The first couple chapters of the Bible describe God's "very good" creation, which included a man living in a very intimate relationship with God. God apparently had verbal conversations with Adam, gave him instructions, attended to his needs, and even walked in Adam's garden. This, according to the Bible, is paradise - the way God meant the world to be before the corruption of sin and death. But immediately (likely within minutes of Adam's creation, if you're a literalist) God senses that there's something missing.

"It is not good for the man to be alone."

In fact, Adam is not alone. God himself is near at hand - physically present. Few Biblical figures, and likely few people in history, have experienced anything like the kind of intimacy with God that Adam had. But it wasn't enough. Adam needed "a helper suitable for him."

I'm amazed by what this suggests about human fellowship. (It may also say something about gender roles, but I'll look past that for now.) I value my relationships, but I tend to think of them as a dim reflection of the relationship I hope to have with God. There may be some truth to this (particularly when human relationships are unhealthy) and I don't think friends or lovers were ever meant to fill my "God-shaped hole". But I think this passage suggests that there we also have "human companion-shaped holes" which even God Himself cannot adequately fill. That's pretty powerful statement about the importance of community.

Fruit in Keeping With Repentance

2007-04-01T23:35:00.000-06:00

I've never been a huge fan of John the Baptist. I guess I've always envisioned him as a sort of first-century hellfire preacher - the sort of pulpit-pounding moralist who rails against miniskirts and alcohol and loud music. The kind who glares down at sinners and riffraff from beneath a furrowed brow, and yearns for the good old days when people wandered in the desert and wore camel-skins and were serious about God. You know the kind I mean.

John certainly sounds like a hard-ass. His slogan is "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near", which has a kind of a doomsday-prophet ring to it, and he greets the crowds who come to hear him preach as "You brood of vipers". He also warns that the Messiah will come and "burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire". Hard-ass.

Normally when I think of John I don't get much past the call for repentance and the "brood of vipers" line. But we get a glimpse into the content of his preaching (i.e. what he calls for repentance from and to) in Luke 3. John tears into the crowd for not "producing fruit in keeping with repentance", and the people ask him what exactly he wants them to do.

John answered, "The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same."

That's interesting. The crowds may have expected John to mention clothes and food, but he doesn't seize the opportunity to tell the them what kind of tunics they ought to wear (ankle-length, I would imagine, and preferably a coarse, itchy fabric) or which foods they shouldn't eat (the Jewish law is big on dietary restrictions, and John himself ate only locusts and honey). Instead he calls for compassion and charity. From this one comment, you'd almost get the idea that the coming kingdom is less about laws and purity and more about social justice. And it goes on.

Tax collectors also came to be baptized. "Teacher," they asked, "what should we do?"

"Don't collect any more than you are required to," he told them.

Then some soldiers asked him, "And what should we do?"

He replied, "Don't extort money and don't accuse people falsely — be content with your pay."

I'm struck by the practicality of John's teaching. Ethical business practices. Justice. Honesty. Compassion. These are the fruits of repentance. John seems to have no interest in long lists of religious laws. (He seemed to get along with those who kept them no better than did Jesus, and for the same reasons.) He also doesn't seem to care about respectability or avoiding the appearance of evil - after all, he never tells the tax collectors and soldiers to quit their disreputable jobs, only to do them with integrity. And he certainly didn't focus on matters of doctrine.

John's a real turn-or-burner, but at the same time he's radically compassionate. His style isn't quite to my liking, but his message, I think, is bang-on.

On a related note, I couldn't go through all of Lent without linking to Isaiah 58.

Forgive Us Our Debts

2007-03-26T14:29:00.000-06:00

"This, then, is how you should pray:
...Forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.

For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins."
Matthew 6:9-15

Someone read this is church last week and I was struck by how strongly Jesus commands us to forgive. He goes so far as to say that God will forgive us if and only if we forgive others. Of course, other passages suggest that the requirements for God's forgiveness are far more complex, but this is not the only place where Jesus indicates that there is a relationship between forgiving and being forgiven.

"Then the master called the servant in. 'You wicked servant,' he said, 'I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn't you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?' In anger his master turned him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.

"This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart."
Matthew 18:32-35

"And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."
Mark 11:25

"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. ...For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."
Luke 6:37-38

I'm not suggesting that we take these statements at face value (as I said, other passages suggest a more complex view) but I think we can say with certainty that Jesus viewed forgiveness as a discipline of the highest importance. I'm surprised that I haven't heard more about this. I can't remember ever hearing an alter call that included an admonition to forgive others. I don't recall ever hearing a sermon on Matthew 6:15, or reading "forgive and you will be forgiven" in a statement of faith. I'm sure no one would argue that forgiving others is unimportant, but I didn't realize that Jesus considered it so important. Food for thought.

Trembling Before G-d

2007-03-23T10:51:00.000-06:00

We watched this movie in my Judaism class yesterday.
It's about homosexual Orthodox and Hasidic (i.e. super-conservative) Jews struggling to reconcile their sexuality with their religious beliefs. It follows several people, including a man dying of AIDS and rediscovering his Orthodox roots, a lesbian couple who've been together for twelve years, the world's first openly gay Orthodox rabbi, and an ultra-orthodox, married Israeli woman who dares not tell her husband she's a lesbian. It also includes the perspectives of several Orthodox rabbis who struggle to find a balance between upholding their religious laws and showing compassion and acceptance to people in pain.

I found the movie moving and very thought provoking. It's not pro-gay propaganda, it offers no pat answers, and it's definitely worth watching even if you're not gay or Jewish. I borrowed the movie from my professor until Tuesday, so if you're in town and want to see it, give me a shout. I may purchase my own copy.

Credo

2007-03-17T23:23:00.000-06:00

Blessed art I, the Lord thy God,
King of the Universe,
Who conveniently hateth thine enemy.
Who sanctifieth thy unsavory whims,
And justifieth whatever the fuck
you felt like doing anyway.

That's a bit from Credo, a short film that you can watch here. (Thanks to rlp.) The lyrics are here.

Regarding the film's major theme (the quote at the top isn't directly related) I'm not sure what I think of the idea that God cannot see the future, that he fails to understand the consequences of his actions, that he does not always do the right thing. It certainly explains a lot, about both the world we see around us and many troubling Bible stories. (The Bible never says God is all powerful, and what it does say about God changes an awful lot.) But it's a very frightening thing to consider.

Without Excuse

2007-03-10T23:35:00.000-07:00

The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of men who suppress the truth by their wickedness, since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities — his eternal power and divine nature — have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.
- Romans 1:18-20

Suppose we accept Paul's claim that creation reveals the "invisible qualities" of God. What would these qualities be? Of course we all see the world differently, and our religious beliefs influence our view of nature at least as much as nature influences our religious beliefs. It's hard to say what we might see if we looked at the world with fresh eyes, but we can make an educated guess by considering the beliefs of primitive religions, which are based primarily on observation of the world rather than supposed revelation. I'm not an anthropologist, but from my limited and perhaps inaccurate knowledge of the matter I have to following objections to Paul's claim:

1. The range of beliefs about among nature-based religions is vast. Thus the list God's qualities which are "plain" to everyone will be very short. Paul suggests that humanity in general has scorned the plain knowledge of God that nature provides, so someone may argue that those primitive religions which have very unbiblical understandings of God (the overwhelming majority) have intentionally ignored or distorted the natural evidence. I would reply that the unbiblical beliefs of nature-based religions make a lot of sense, and that belief in the biblical God is distinctly unnatural - that is, unlikely to result from simple observation of nature. This will be more clear in subsequent points.

2. Monotheism (belief in one god) seems to be quite unpopular in nature-based religions. Polytheism and pantheism are far simpler explanations for the immense diversity of nature and the plethora of forces (creation, destruction, nourishment, illness, etc.) at work in the world. Judging from nature, if there is only one god, he seems to be schizophrenic. I think it would be very difficult to argue that nature itself, apart from any religious, social, or scientific frameworks, points to a single God.

3. It seems to me that most primitive religions center around either appeasement or manipulation of the gods. The world is filled with suffering, which strikes seemingly at random. It is a basic human intuition that suffering is the result of the gods' displeasure, and the general brutality of nature suggests that the gods are easily angered. My understanding is that most primitive religions view the gods as either angry, vindictive beings who demand fear, strict obedience, and sacrifice, or as petty magicians to be bribed or manipulated for personal benefit. Although the biblical God does seem to have a vindictive streak, I think the God Paul is thinking of differs vastly in terms of both "his eternal power and divine nature" from the sorts of gods that are generally inferred from creation.

If you resist the idea that nature suggests a much crueler or much less powerful god than the Bible's, consider the first chapters of Genesis. The very first thing the Bible tells us is that the world we currently inhabit is not an accurate reflection of God's personality. Our world (according to Genesis) is full of suffering not because God is weak or sadistic, but because humans messed it up. Without this crucial information, you'd expect people to get a very different impression of God from nature.

4. A major theme in the Bible is the question of why a good God would allow the righteous to suffer and the wicked to go prosper. This is an excellent question, and it springs from the recognition that the world we inhabit does not seem to be governed by a powerful and just God. This puzzle eventually led to the concept of an afterlife (which developed between the Testaments, and not from divine revelation) in which we are finally repaid justly for our earthly works. The Jews, like all peoples, recognized that nature does not bless the meek, and from our worldly experience alone we have every reason to believe that the gods are indifferent to morality, or that they merely help those who help themselves. It may be true that all people have some moral code within them, but I don't believe nature suggests that the gods value this code.

It seems to me that the qualities of God that can be "clearly seen" in nature are in fact quite different from those clearly seen in the Bible. Paul, of all people, should know that the truth of Christianity is not self-evident, even to those with the benefit of familiarity with God's prior works.

His Love Endures Forever

2007-03-04T23:51:00.000-07:00

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good.
His love endures forever.

To him who struck down the firstborn of Egypt.
His love endures forever. - Psalm 136:1,10

What a bizarre thing to say. From my perspective, killing children is not a demonstration of love. I would call it cruelty, murder, perhaps genocide.

I suppose the author considered God's love (particularly his enduring love) to be more or less exclusive to Israel. The killing of every firstborn male in Egypt for the sake of Israel is seen as a cause for celebration and worship. This idea that's God's love is foremost or exclusively for the chosen people (chosen, not more obedient) crops up often in the Old Testament. Malachi even tells us we can see God's love by comparing Israel to those he hates.

I've mentioned before (point 5) that nations in the Bible seem to be only as good or evil as their kings. When righteous kings rule, the people are obedient and God blesses them. When wicked kings rule, the people are wicked, and God pours out his wrath upon them. I somehow doubt that all the people of a nation suddenly became moral or immoral when a new king was crowned; more likely the rise of a wicked king meant that the wicked people became wealthy and powerful, and with the rise of a righteous king they were killed or removed. Unless human nature has changed drastically since Bible times, I can't believe that there was ever such a thing as a wicked or righteous nation, only nations in which the ruler allows either wickedness or righteousness to prosper. If this is true it seems horribly cruel and unjust for God to bring judgment on a nation like Egypt. There was never a referendum on whether to let God's people go, and even if the majority of the Egyptians were resolutely opposed (which they weren't, as we'll see) the minority would not deserve continued judgment. (Someone might argue that God judges nations as a whole because it is not possible for him to pick a specific kind of person, such as "the wicked", out of a group and kill only them, but Exodus says that it is.)

But it gets worse. The Bible says that God "hardened Pharaoh's heart" so that he would refuse to release the Israelites. I've heard people defend God by claiming that first Pharaoh hardened his own heart several times, and then at a certain point God started hardening it for him. This is supposed to show that if you rebel against God for too long, eventually he gives up on you and makes you an object of his wrath or something like that. (So much for "His love endures forever".) Aside from not addressing the problem of judging a whole nation for its ruler's irrational obstinacy, the main problem with this claim is that it's not true. God planned to harden Pharaoh's heart right from the start. Look:

The LORD said to Moses, "When you return to Egypt, see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders I have given you the power to do. But I will harden his heart so that he will not let the people go. Then say to Pharaoh, 'This is what the LORD says: Israel is my firstborn son, and I told you, "Let my son go, so he may worship me." But you refused to let him go; so I will kill your firstborn son.'" - Exodus 4:21-23

And He says it again. (This is still before Moses has come before Pharaoh for the first time.)

"You are to say everything I command you, and your brother Aaron is to tell Pharaoh to let the Israelites go out of his country. But I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and though I multiply my miraculous signs and wonders in Egypt, he will not listen to you. Then I will lay my hand on Egypt and with mighty acts of judgment I will bring out my divisions, my people the Israelites." - Exodus 7:2-4

Sure enough, Pharaoh's heart is hardened. This is referred to at least a dozen times between Exodus 7 and 14. Sometimes it says Pharaoh hardened his heart, and sometimes it simply says that his heart became hard, or was hard, but mostly it says that God hardened his heart. I suspect that the writer of Exodus doesn't pay particular attention to who was responsible for each instance of hardening. The point seems to be that both Pharaoh and God are responsible.

It's strange that God goes through this long, brutal charade of demands and plagues and heart-hardening. The text seems to indicate that at several points God's hardening of Pharaoh's heart actually prevented Israel from being released, so clearly all this suffering is not an unfortunate-yet-necessary means to the deliverance of Israel. It seems that God's only reason for sending at least the last three plagues (those that occur after the last mention of Pharaoh hardening his own heart) was to demonstrate his power. God killed thousands of children just to prove that he could. And it gets worse:

Every firstborn son in Egypt will die, from the firstborn son of Pharaoh, who sits on the throne, to the firstborn son of the slave girl, who is at her hand mill, and all the firstborn of the cattle as well. - Exodus 11:5

If the death of a child was a just punishment (which it isn't, according to the God of Ezekiel), the death of Pharaoh's firstborn might be considered just. You'd have to argue that it was punishment for his general cruelty, rather than for his final, God-forced refusal to free the Israelites, but we'll let that pass for now. It might even be possible to argue that the Egyptians in general deserved this punishment for their cruelty towards Israel, although I would vehemently disagree. But what possible reason could God have for killing the sons of slave girls?

Forget about God hearing the cries of the oppressed. That's not what this is about. Far from concerning himself with their liberation, God is perfectly willing to bring suffering and destruction on Egypt's non-Jewish (i.e. non-Chosen) slaves. I suppose the reason is that the death of their firstborn slaves, along with their livestock and their own sons would make a more impressive demonstration of God's power for the Egyptians. That's God's goal here.

Bear in mind that by the time the tenth plague rolls around, no one wants the Israelites in Egypt anymore. The Egyptians have been made "favorably disposed" to them. (Which seems to mean scared to death.) Even Pharaoh's officials are urging him to let them go. And the Israelites themselves are still in slavery. The only one who's interested in delaying the exodus is God, who is intent on further proving his power by killing children.

By the way, I've often heard the argument that God refrains from performing great miracles in our time because of his great respect for human free will. The idea is that if God openly and miraculously intervened in our world, we would be forced to believe in Him. I have several objections to this argument. Is simply believing in God's existence what He wants from us? Isn't it obedience? Disbelief in the existence of God is quite a recent development; did humans have less free will before the advent of atheism? And most importantly, where is this concern for free will in the Bible? Jesus doesn't refrain from performing miracles for fear that it might force someone to believe in him. Signs and wonders are a staple of evangelism is Acts. And in the Old Testament, miracles are continuously performed not in spite of but for the purpose of proving the existence and power of God. (Remember Mount Carmel?) Here in Exodus, not only is God not concerned that his miracles will compromise free will, but he repeatedly overrides Pharaoh's free will in order to to preform more spectacular (and more horrible) miracles, and he does this explicitly for the purpose of proving his existence and power.

It astounds me that God did not simply kill Pharaoh himself, and anyone else who would prevent Israel from leaving. This would be more effective, more just, at least as easy and no less spectacular than killing firstborn sons. Why target children? That's movie-villain stuff. Even in war, the death of children is a ghastly thing, and anyone with a shred of decency will try to avoid it. That God kills thousands of people at the same time, and kills only firstborn males, and kills every one of them except those in houses with lambs' blood on their door, shows that He strikes with a precision that no earthly force could dream of. That He directly targets not those who deserve punishment or those who present and obstacle to the freedom of his people but children, even the children of slaves, and that he planned to do this from the beginning, and hardened his adversary in order to make this possible, and did it simply to demonstrate the magnitude of his power, makes him a monster.

To clarify, I do not believe that God is a monster. I believe in a good and compassionate God; a God whose love endures forever. But I do not believe that the God described here and in similar Bible stories is my God. (If you think this is an isolated incident, see Joshua 11.) It amazes me that anyone can believe in the God described by Moses and Joshua. It amazes me even more that people can describe this God as loving.

God-Breathed and Useful

2007-02-25T23:49:00.000-07:00

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.
- 2 Tim 3:16-17

A recent conversation with my friend Lucid Elusion got me thinking about this verse. I've decided that I don't think it means what a lot of people think it means - that the Bible is inerrant or infallible. (I'm not saying that the interpretation I'm challenging is that of my friend, only that it seems to be a popular reading.) Here's why:

To begin with, it goes without saying that a statement in the Bible about the Bible cannot be used to prove its infallibility. A good skeptic will not be at all impressed to hear that the Bible says it's infallible. But most Christians already have great trust in the Bible, and if the question is not "is the Bible at all reliable" but "given that the Bible is reliable, just how reliable is it", then such a statement is of some interest. The logic is something like CS Lewis' famous Liar/Lunatic/Lord argument - if an author claims to be infallible, either he is attempting to deceive his readers, or he's badly mistaken (and probably a bit crazy), or he's correct. I'm not sure that I accept Lewis' argument, particularly in this revised form, but I won't get into that here. What I want to examine is not the truth of Paul's statement, but its exact content. Is Paul really claiming inerrancy?

First of all, there's a question of what the Paul (assuming Paul wrote 2 Tim) considers to be scripture. I'm told that the early Church used the Septuagint (an early Greek translation of the OT, plus additional books), which includes many books and additions that we no longer consider to be "inspired", by which we mean inerrant. Perhaps Paul, an educated Jew, would have made a distinction between the OT and the Apocrypha, but his Greek readers would not. The NT gives no indication that any attempt was made in the early Church to clarify exactly which books are "scripture", and if anything, Jude's matter-of-fact references to contemporary myths suggest a fairly loose understanding of the word.

So when Paul says "scripture", it's unclear precisely what he means. We can be certain he doesn't mean the 66 books to which we now affix the term, because some of them were yet to be written, and the exact content of our Bible was not finalized until centuries later. Hard-line infallibilists are obligated to believe in the inerrancy of not only the Biblical authors, but also the members of the church councils that determined which books would be included. Thus for the sake of clarity, I propose that this verse be read "All books which are accepted by the church as scripture are God-breathed and are useful..."

But this does not help the infallibilists' case, because for the original readers, this statement would apply to the Apocrypha as well, which no infallibilist I know considers to be scripture. Instead, they might wish to read this verse as "All books which were ultimately recognized by the later church councils as scripture...", but this is problematic because it means that both the author and his original readers were mistaken about this verse's true meaning. In fact, for the early church the verse would have the deceptive and somewhat dangerous effect of seeming to claim inerrancy for writings which we now know to be errant. The only other readings I can think of would be "All books which are considered scripture by God, regardless of any human opinions...", which is even less helpful because it gives us no indication of to which books it applies, or "All books which are considered scripture at the time of this [Paul's] writing...", which no one I know would agree to.

Some will resist my interpretation of "scripture" as here meaning "all books which are accepted by the church as scripture" because of the apparent implication that the inerrancy of certain texts could change as they were added or dropped from the canon. But I don't think this verse is about inerrancy at all. What it says is that scripture is "God-breathed" and "useful".

"God-breathed" is not a word found anywhere else in the New Testament. According to my concordance, "God-breathed" is a literal translation of the Greek word, which comes from the words "God" and "blow", and which refers to the inspiration or communication of a deity. It's not unreasonable to think that something inspired by God would be without error, and I can see why some people understand this as a claim that the Bible is completely accurate in all matters - theological, moral, historical, scientific, etc. - from beginning to end. If a God-breathed text contained errors, they argue, it would mean that God is either lacking in knowledge or lying to us.

But no one will argue that hopeless wails of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes, the anger and bitterness of the Psalms, or the self-righteous condemnation of Job's friends represent ethical and metaphysical truths. Of course not. These are examples of the human element of the Bible. Truth cannot be plucked from the pages of the Bible as from a creed (yeah, right) or even a physics text. No one argues that the Parables of Jesus are historical truths, and anyone who looks to Psalm 137 for moral instruction is headed for trouble. Even the staunchest literalist does not claim that every statement in the Bible is true.

So what might "God-breathed" mean if not "free of human emotion, bias, and error"? I'm not sure exactly, but I think the rest of the verse gives us a hint: "All Scripture is... useful". Useful for what? Understanding science? History? The mechanics of salvation? No. Useful for "teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness". And in case you didn't catch it the first time, he adds "so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work."

A story doesn't have to be historically accurate to be useful for training in righteousness. Jesus knew this better that anyone. And if we believe that this great storyteller had a hand in the crafting the rest of scripture, why are we so certain that the other stories it contains are historically true? And why do we think it matters?

It just occurred to me that "God-breathed" has a different feel to it if we call God "Daddy", as Jesus suggests. What might it mean for something to be Daddy-breathed? Parents tell children what they can understand, embrace, and learn from. They don't read them historical tomes or ethical treatises, they read them fairy tales. I think there's a temptation to think of the God who breathed the scriptures as more of a professor than a father, as if a book can only be useful for training in righteousness if it's true the way a physics text is true (only more so).

I'm not saying there is widespread historical inaccuracy in the Bible. (How would I know?) I'm just saying I don't think it really matters one way or the other. Paul could have said "All scripture is God-breathed and true", but he didn't. So I don't know what exactly Paul thought of the inerrancy of scripture, but it seems that he didn't consider the matter worth writing about. What was more important to him, apparently, is that the Bible is "useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness". I like that.

Father, Forgive Them

2007-02-17T17:00:00.000-07:00

When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." -Luke 23:33-34

I think it's significant that Jesus does not merely ask for their forgiveness, but adds "for they do not know what they are doing", as if their ignorance ought to (but does not automatically) absolve them. I think this passage, among others, suggests a far more complex model of guilt and grace than I'm used to.

Whose forgiveness is he talking about? It seems that there were a lot of people involved who didn't grasp the significance of their actions. The soldiers who crucified him didn't realize he was innocent; they merely followed orders. The crowd that called for his crucifixion were told to do so by the chief priests and elders - their spiritual and social leaders. The priests and elders were acting on the ruling of the High Priest, and the High Priest believed Jesus to be guilty of blasphemy, and thus deserving of death. Pilate found Jesus innocent by Roman standards, but certainly didn't realize he was killing a sinless man. (And from a utilitarian perspective, he probably did the right thing.) Even Judas didn't fully understand what he was doing, because he didn't believe Jesus to be the Messiah. (He did realize that he'd shed innocent blood, but for this he seemed to genuinely repent.) If we take Jesus' statement as normative (i.e. all those who sin unintentionally ought to be forgiven) it seems that there's an awful lot of sin that qualifies, at least in part.

More food for thought: Jesus forgave people who didn't ask for it. (Didn't he know about the fourth spiritual law?) He told some people to stop sinning. (Stop all sinning, or just the major ones? Did Jesus think that certain sins aren't a big deal?) He said that he came to call sinners to repent, not the righteous. (I thought no one was righteous.) He even forgives a man because of the faith of his friends. (Can I save others by my faith?) And here he seems to be saying that God should forgive those who sin in ignorance. (This is especially weird because it sounds like the Father is less willing to forgive than Jesus.)

I like the weirdness of this verse because there's a lot of talk in the Bible about sin and guilt that really bothers me. I don't understand why Adam's sin would create a "sinful nature" in humanity, or why this would be passed down to his descendants, or why individuals in the Bible were consistently punished for the sins of their nation, king, family, or ancestors, or why I deserve judgment for being imperfect if it's impossible for me to be perfect, or why anyone at all would deserve to suffer eternally for finite sins. My issues with these concepts run pretty deep, and I doubt I'll be able to fully accept any of them any time soon. But maybe part of the problem is that words like sin and guilt have very narrow, specific definitions in my mind, whereas the Bible's use of these words may be different, and more complex.

An Extravagant Hope

2007-02-07T23:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read a story and not been sure if it was the happy-ending kind or the sad-ending kind? Or have you ever read one where the hero keeps getting into hopeless situations, and you can never see a way out of them but he always comes through? Or one where you've got a hunch that it's the happy-ending kind, but you're not sure how it could be, and you just have to trust that the hero's got a plan, and whatever it is, somehow it's going to work out?

I've got a feeling that the story of creation is that kind of story.

I couldn't tell you why. No good reason, I guess. Stupid hope, overoptimism, I don't know. But remember the story of Jesus, and how unexpected and strange and backwards it was? The Jews spent centuries waiting for him and studying what he'd be like, and they still didn't know him when they saw him. I don't think it was their fault either. I think God threw them a hell of a curve ball.

And remember the crucifixion? Even the people he explained it to weren't ready for it. They knew God was up to something with Jesus, but they had no idea how big it was. They had no idea how high the stakes were, and how far God would go to love us. And when they thought the story had come to a very bad end, in fact it was just the beginning of a very good ending - the best of any story yet. And the next surprise what that this story wasn't just for twelve guys, or a few hungry crowds, or one nation in need of deliverance; it was for all the people of the world, even all of creation. We never guessed the ending could be that good.

But lean close, and I'll tell you my secret hope:

I don't think we've seen the last twist yet. I don't think we yet know the best of God's plan. I just can't believe that he's come this far merely to snatch up a few fortunates, burn the rest, and start new. I believe in re-newal. I believe in redemption, and reconciliation, and reunion, and I believe in them bigger and deeper than I have any good reason to. You can call me greedy or starry-eyed, but there it is.

It's not that I see a whole lot of redemption in creation today. In fact I see a shocking amount of senseless pain and evil - things broken that can never be fixed, things lost that can never be restored. Longings without hope of fulfillment, pain without purpose, faith betrayed. But in God's plan (what I've seen of it so far) good things are always born out of broken ones. Even the perfect man was created in a carnal womb, and new life is given through the spilling of blood.

If I have a reason for believing that there's more to come, it's only that I see a whole lot of pain and evil in this world that has yet to be redeemed, and I can't help but think he's got a plan to work even these things for good.

I don't know how this world came to be so broken, and I certainly don't know how it could all be fixed. But "I know whom I've believed, and am convinced that he is able".

You're welcome to disagree with me, but that's my hope.

The Problem With Hell

2007-01-31T23:34:00.000-07:00

Every Christian ought to sit quietly for an hour and think about hell - its foreverness, its remorse, its darkness, its torment. They should think about relatives, friends, neighbors, men everywhere who will soon be there. They should think about it long enough so that they will never be able to live normal, routine, complacent Christian lives again.
-William MacDonald

There are several reasons I don't believe in Hell (at least as a place of eternal torment for those who do not become Christians) but one of the biggest is the affect of this doctrine on those who sincerely believe it. I've seen more than one of my friends an emotional wreck over the idea of their loved ones burning in hell forever. Once they really think about it, about "its foreverness, its remorse, its darkness, its torment", it breaks their hearts. How could it not? I marvel that Christians are able to cope with this belief. Never mind complacency - just to function in this world with the knowledge that some people you love will suffer for eternity is a herculean task. I don't know how people can sleep or laugh or work or worship God while believing in Hell. I really don't know how it's possible.

I think most people cope with Hell by ignoring it - effectively not believing in it. But there are also those who do think about it - who believe in the sense that it changes the way they live their lives. I admire these people for their honesty and their courage, but I don't like the ways this belief affects their lives. For example:

1.The significance of hell is so great that it overshadows all other concerns. What are social issues, ethics, abundant life, even our relationships with God next to the horror of eternal torment? If our actions can affect the eternal destiny of those who would otherwise burn in hell, how can we invest our energy in anything else? (What would be better: ending world hunger, or saving one person from eternal torment? Pascalian wagers abound.) Thus converting others to our religion becomes our raison d'etre as Christians, and community, spiritual growth, and concern for others (beyond their eternal destination) become secondary concerns at best.

2. This can lead to an "any means necessary" approach to evangelism. If souls can be saved through deception, emotional manipulation or scare tactics, how can these things be bad? Hell houses are a result of this mindset, taken to the extreme. Most Hell-believers will feel that such an overt attempt to "scare the hell out of" sinners goes too far, but many have no qualms about making converts through less brazen forms of manipulation - emotional "worship" services, spiritual parlor tricks, dishonest marketing, hidden-agenda friendships, and so forth. I once worked at a week-long children's camp where the gospel (that is, a plea to believe in Jesus and be saved from hell) was presented at every opportunity - generally about four times a day. To me, this seemed like a desperate and unscrupulous attempt to nag, scare, or brainwash small children into joining our religion. To other staff, it was taking seriously our mandate to save souls. In short, people burdened with the responsibility of rescuing others from hell often resort to tactics that they would consider unconscionable if applied to any other end, even (or especially) the missionary efforts of another religion. I admit that not all who truly believe in hell give in to this temptation, but surly all must feel its pull.

3. Given the prevalence of any-means-necessary evangelism, it's no surprise that far more children become Christians than adults, and that child-like trust and gullibility are often conflated with faith. This misconception leads to a distrust of rationality and critical thinking (a.k.a. "the wisdom of this world"), and the idea that doubting "God" (or anything that claims to be of God) is a weakness or a sin.

4. If God has given us some responsibility for "winning souls", then we must be able to tell which ones need to be won. We may not be able to say definitively whether another person has fulfilled the criteria for salvation, but we need to at least know definitively what the criteria is. This leads to a compression of complex and nuanced Biblical teachings about faith and works, eternal life, and the kingdom of heaven into a very simple, clear-cut and dogmatic understanding of what salvation means and how it is acquired - something along the lines of praying a prayer. This thinking not only misses the complexity that these concepts (as I understand them) were meant to have, it denies the possibility of such concepts being complex. Shades of meaning, ambiguity, and deliberate unclarity about matters of salvation are luxuries that hell-believers cannot afford.

5. Of course, if the method of obtaining salvation must be clear and beyond doubt, this requires not only the Bible to be infallible (I don't have a big problem with this view) but also our interpretation of the Bible (I have a big problem with this view). Few Christians will say in so many words that their interpretation of the Bible (or their pastor's, or whoever's) is infallible, but many act as if it is. Because if it's possible that we're mistaken about what the Bible says about salvation, then it's possible that all our efforts to "witness" have been in vain. It's even possible that we ourselves are hell-bound. Surely God wouldn't let this happen. (Experience has taught me to be suspicious of "Surely God wouldn't" arguments.) My concern is that once we decide that there are certain things God wouldn't allow us to be wrong about, it's easy to lengthen the list.

6. If you believe that God has made the method of salvation clear and obvious, you've got to explain why lots of people don't go for it. The easy explanation is that they're blinded by sin. I won't dwell on this point (which I've discussed before), but I see some pretty big problems with believing that anyone who disagrees with you is lying, corrupt, confused or ignorant. And as with the last point, once you believe that everyone else is blind to the truth about salvation, you have to wonder if they're blind to truth on all sorts of other issues which seem clear to you.

7. Not surprisingly, people who believe that they escaped eternal suffering through a single decision made when they were four often have some anxiety about the possibility of other decisions they've made or will make negating their salvation. Thus it becomes necessary to stress that only this one act has eternal, irrevocable consequences. No other choice or behavior, however willful, however cold-blooded, and however often repeated, can undo the decision you were prompted to make way back when you still believed in Santa Claus. Of course, someone who prays a certain prayer today may feel differently tomorrow, or 20 years from now. So why does a single decision, so often provoked by emotion and fear (or "the prompting of the Spirit" to the less cynical) and generally made at a very young age, make the difference between heaven and hell, regardless of anything - anything at all - that happens afterward? This seems absurd to me. But more importantly, reducing salvation to escaping hellfire through a single act of repentance trivializes all our other acts, for example, our treatment of those in need. (Which Jesus seemed to think was a big deal. Note that he doesn't say "I was hungry and you used the promise of food to lure me in for a sermon.")

I could probably go on, but this post is already too long, and I've been working on it (or putting off working on it) for over a month. I should say in closing that my criticisms are primarily against a very conservative view of hell and salvation - essentially, pray-the-prayer-or-burn-forever - and that there are various conceptions of hell that are less susceptible to these criticisms. I trust the reader to determine how well a given concept of hell avoids these problems. If you'd like to share how you deal with the problems I've mentioned, if you'd like to hear my opinion on a certain view of hell, or if you think any of the problems I've listed aren't problems, I'd love to hear from you.

God's Plan for Rape

2007-01-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

Do not dishonor your father's brother by approaching his wife to have sexual relations; she is your aunt.

Do not have sexual relations with your daughter-in-law. She is your son's wife; do not have relations with her.

Do not have sexual relations with your brother's wife; that would dishonor your brother.
- Lev. 18:14-16

My Religion prof pointed out that the reason repeatedly given in this passage for not having sex with a female relative is that it would bring dishonor on the male to whom she belongs. Of all the reasons not to have sex - consensual or otherwise - with your mother, the one given (ostensibly) by God is that it would dishonor your father. Not you. Not her. Her husband.

It occurred to me that this might explain why a Biblical prohibition on premarital sex is difficult to find. (Maybe I should have another contest.) Apparently the violation of a woman is less deplorable if she has no male lord to be dishonored by it. Indeed, Deut. 22 says that a man who rapes a betrothed woman must die, but a man who rapes a woman who is not betrothed must pay her father the bride-price and marry her. And they can never be divorced.

If I understand this correctly, a man who rapes a betrothed girl has committed a far greater sin than a man who rapes a girl who is not yet betrothed. (Bear in mind that in this society everyone gets married, and does so as soon as they're physically able to bear children. So a girl who is not yet pledged to be married is probably younger than one who is. Probably prepubescent.) Following the logic of Lev. 18, it seems that in the first case the rapist brings disgrace to the girl's betrothed, for which he must die, whereas in the second case he has sinned against the girl's father (who had the right to choose his daughter's husband) for which he must pay the father a pound of silver. This second sin is not a serious one because he has not stolen what is another man's, but merely claimed it for himself - albeit in a somewhat unscrupulous manner.

I'm not going to dwell on what I think about forcing rape victims to marry their attackers, but the word "abhorrent" comes to mind. In fact I can't think of many things forbidden in the Bible that strike me as so cruel and reprehensible as what is commanded here.

I've heard the argument that the ancient Near East was a brutal and barbaric place, and that the Mosaic Law was far less brutal and barbaric than anything else at the time, and that it would have been impossible in that context to introduce a 21st century - or even first century - legal code, so God just did the best he could. I can accept this argument, to a point. (I'm not a Kantian.) I can accept that ancient Jews may not have been ready for the concept of gender equality. And I might be able to accept that God would permit slavery in this context (I'm not entirely sure) so maybe I can accept that God would permit women to be treated as property. But I cannot accept that God would order rape victims to marry their attackers.

Bear in mind that I've only been thinking about this for a few hours, and I haven't really done any research yet. So if you have some insight in this matter please let me know. Either way, I'd like to hear what you think of this. Are you as sickened by this law as I am? Can you worship a god who wrote it?

Ages Four and Up?

2007-01-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

Something struck me in church today. We had a baptism, and one of the guys who was getting dunked gave a little testimony. He mentioned that he became a Christian at age four or five, at his parent's prompting, and that he wasn't baptized at that time because his parents figured he was to young to grasp the significance of baptism.

So here's my question: why is a four-year-old old enough to become a Christian, but not old enough to be baptized? What is it about these two actions that makes the former suitable for a kid who can't tie his own shoes, and the latter not appropriate until adolescence? I don't mean to pick on this guy or his family - I think a lot of Christians (obviously excluding those who baptize infants, or who believe baptism is necessary for salvation) have the idea that baptism requires a level of maturity (physically? spiritually? intellectually?) that repentance (whatever we think that means) does not.

I really don't understand this position. Can anyone explain it to me? What are your thoughts on the matter?

A Contest, And Other News

2007-01-11T23:50:00.000-07:00

I've decided to have a contest. Find for me the words "childlike faith" or "faith of a child" or some equivalent in the Bible. I'm willing to allow for some variance in the wording, but the idea of faith specifically must be there (something like "receive" is too vague) and the faith itself must be explicitly childlike (so something like "my faithful child in the Lord" wouldn't work). You can find it in whatever version you like, but if the translation is unique to that version, you may be asked to justify it. The first person to find these words for me (just leave a comment on this post) will receive a prize of one million dollars. Entries must be submitted by February 1.

So what have I been up to?

I spent the 27th to the first at Winter Camp in the Crowsnest Pass. Except for the 30th, on which I went up to Edmonton (6 hours) in the morning, attended a wedding, and came back down again that night.

Camp was good, relaxing. The wedding was lovely and filled my heart with happiness.

On the last day of camp I suddenly decided to join a road-trip to Vancouver, but not before sending all of my extra clothes and stuff home with a friend. We were supposed to come home Sunday, but we were snowed in in Fernie and got back on Monday. I missed my first day of school.

I've had goodbye parties on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of this week. Two of my dear South African friends have gone home, and two others have gone to Italy for a couple months. I'm not sad, somehow. Just tired from lots of goodbye partying.

It turns out that some people using Internet Explorer can't see my blog's background picture. Why some IE users can and others can't, I can't imagine. Microsoft is Satan. Use Firefox.

Christmas Stuff

2006-12-24T03:28:00.000-07:00

Bruce summarizes Matthew's and Luke's versions of the Christmas story here and here. I don't think I've ever heard the two accounts separated, and it's very interesting to consider the different perspectives of the two writers. (His comment on this post is a sort of a Reader's Digest version.)

My new personal Christmas tradition is listening to Real Live Preacher's audio book "A Christmas Story You've Never Heard", which you can find at the iTunes store. It's raw and real and it really is very different from any telling of the story that I've ever heard before. His new story (the second of a planned seven) focusing on the shepherds, is available for download here.

I think Dave's got it right. This song kills me.

Caution, Wet Paint

2006-12-21T23:49:00.000-07:00

This blog is officially beta-ized. It took longer than I expected, and it was more frustrating than I expected, but it's done(ish), it's better than ever, and it still looks good.

I will try to refrain from ranting at length about Internet Explorer (aka "the special needs browser"). It's beyond me why anyone still uses the damnable thing. Firefox is better, and it's free. If you're not using Firefox, you're not trying.

Anyways, there's lots of exciting new stuff here. Actually, there's mostly just lots of new peek-a-boo stuff. Click on the [+/-]s for drop-down goodies! Hours of fun! Be sure to check out the Labels and Archives pages, and don't miss the peek-a-boo comments at the bottom of this post. So yes, I'm a blog geek. It's ok because it's a hobby, not an obsession or an addiction or whatever. You're allowed to waste time on hobbies.

Big props to Hackosphere, the source of most of my nifty new gizmos. No props to Microsoft.

I Follow Apollos

2006-12-18T23:50:00.000-07:00

The idea of a "biblical church" strikes me as odd. If I understand the term correctly, it means something like "a church which tries to mimic those described in the bible in all ways they deem significant". The problem, of course, is that churches tend to disagree on not only which aspects of the biblical churches are significant (I still say holy kisses are a sacrament), but worse, precisely how the important things were actually done. (Did the early church have women deacons? Baptize babies? All speak in tongues?)

I see myriad problems with the desire to be a biblical church, particularly if the term is understood narrowly. For one thing, I think you'd have a hard time getting all the authors of the New Testament themselves to agree on a very precise set of church doctrines and practices. I like to think that if Peter and Paul and John and James were alive today, they might not all be members of the same denomination (not that they'd make a big deal out of it). Which got me thinking about how it would sound if the apostles went church shopping. This is how I imagine some people imagining it:

Hi there, this is the apostle Paul. I'm calling on behalf of the New Testament Writers' Association. We're thinking of relocating to your town, if we can find a suitable church to attend. Can I ask you a few questions? ... Great.

I took a glance at the statement of faith on your website, and on the whole, it looks promising. A few points may need to be clarified a bit - "inspired" can mean a lot of things, you know - but on the whole, I thought it was pretty good.

Ok, first off, you say you're a "Biblical Church". That's good. Can you explain what that phrase means? ... Yes. ... Well good. I'm glad to hear it.

Can you tell me what your church teaches about salvation? ... And at what point would you say that happens? ... Do you believe there is a possibility that a person could lose their salvation?

Can you describe for me a typical service at your church? ... And how often do you do communion? ... Wine, or grape juice? ... Yes, of course. Now, you don't use those awful wafers do you?

And how much water do you use to baptize your infants? ... Right. ... Ya, that was kind of a trick question.

Would you describe your church as charismatic? ... Do you believe the gift of tongues is still given today? ... Oh, I'm glad. ... Yes, I completely agree, but you wouldn't believe what some people do with that verse.

What is your stance on women's roles in the church? ... I see. And do they wear headcoverings? ... Under what circumstances could a women address the congregation? ... What if she was a visiting missionary?

One final thing: could you give a brief description of the end times? ... I'm looking primarily for sequence of events ... Good. ... And would that be the trumpet, or bowl judgments? ... Ok, continue. ... Hold on, what was that? Did you say after the seven years? ... You can't be serious! ... No, no, you've got it all wrong! ... No, it's no use. I'm afraid I'll have to continue my search. ... Yes, quite sure. ... I'm sorry to have bothered you. ... Alright, well, the grace of our Lord be with you. ... Goodbye.

Exams, Hell

2006-12-14T23:26:00.000-07:00

I'm currently midway through writing exams, and midway through adapting my template to Blogger Beta. That these two events coincide is most unfortunate. I've been spending far less time studying than tinkering with HTML. I am nothing if not undisciplined.

If you're yearning for something to read, I suggest this new post by my good friend Filth-Man (he's really not that filthy). It's about hell (not everyone's cup of tea) and quite long, but I think it's an excellent summary of the problem of hell in biblical Christianity, and various attempts to deal with it. I intend to leave a comment at some point, but at the moment I'm up to my ears in metaphysics. I've actually got a post on a similar subject (hell, not metaphysics) in the works, but between studying, Beta-izing, and my reluctance to dwell on the subject, it's coming slowly.

Pied Beauty

2006-12-06T16:43:00.000-07:00

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins

This is my second favorite poem ever.

The Great Omission

2006-11-26T23:51:00.000-07:00

While I was working on this post, it struck me that Acts favors the word "disciple" to describe followers of Jesus (30 uses), as opposed to "believer" (13) or "Christian" (just 2). I notice that most of us today prefer the latter terms, perhaps because they sound less impressive or presumptuous. To my ears "disciple" sounds like an lofty title, fitting perhaps for a few very wise and godly people I know, but not to a half-hearted screw-up like me. "Believer" sounds like it might include those of us who aren't the best or most devoted followers of Jesus, but who can sign our names to the Apostles creed or some other list of doctrine. (Real Live Preacher thinks this is a very modern and un-biblical understanding of belief.) And "Christian" sounds like someone who goes to church on Sunday and doesn't say words like "fuck".

I know that none of these definitions are very good ones, but I've been thinking specifically about the term "believer" recently. Based on a quick look through Acts, it seems like the early church used "believer" and "disciple" more or less interchangeably. This makes me think that it is a mistake to distinguish between having faith in Jesus and following Jesus, between being a believer and being a disciple. (I think James would agree.) So I was surprised and pleased when I found much the same thing expressed on the dust jacket of Dallas Willard's delightfully titled new book, The Great Omission:

The last command Jesus gave the church before he ascended to heaven was the Great Commission, the call for Christians to "make disciples of all the nations." But Christians have responded by making "Christians," not "disciples." This has been the church's Great Omission.
Full blurb

The book itself is a collection of previously released essays and sermons, and may be a bit repetitive, particularly for those who have already read some of Willard's books. I haven't read it myself, so I won't recommend it. But I love this idea that discipleship, not doctrine, is the essence of Christianity.

Genocide

2006-11-18T23:53:00.000-07:00

I've often been troubled by Bible stories about genocide. It seems like a good portion of the Old Testament is devoted to stories about the God wiping out entire nations - men, women and children - either through the Israelites or other means. I've been told that killing the children of wicked nations was actually an act of mercy, because if they were allowed to grow up in such a corrupt society they would certainly become evil themselves, and God would be forced to judge them for their wickedness. This explanation has never sat well with me, for a number of reasons.

1. The Old Testament really doesn't include the concepts of heaven and hell. The idea of people being damned for their evil actions or unbelief is definitely post-Old Testament. And the idea of an "age of accountability" before which children are not responsible for their actions is arguably post-New Testament. So, at least from the Israelites' perspective, genocide couldn't have been about saving children from God's wrath. In fact, as far as I can tell, being wiped out is the ultimate expression of God's wrath in the Old Testament.

2. The idea that killing babies is merciful is pretty hard for me to swallow. Couldn't they have rescued and raised as Israelites? Wouldn't this have been far more merciful? Besides, this thinking would seem to support to euthanasia and the abortion of disabled babies, which I think most Christians who defend OT genocide would oppose.

3. If it was merciful to eradicate an "evil" race of people back then, is it still merciful today? Would it have been merciful to wipe out the Germans in World War 2, or the Soviets in the Cold War? If this sounds absurd in the modern world, why was it less absurd back then? (See this post.) What was it about the Amalekites and the Edomites that made them so irredeemable? Has humankind really progressed so much since ancient times, that societies were far more evil then than even the worse ones today, or that such societies were beyond help then, whereas now they often improve dramatically in just a few years? (So much for humanity being in decline.)

4. How can we say that entire nations, meaning every single person within them, deserved God's wrath? Were there really no good men and women among them? (And if so, what has changed? Why are there no purely evil nations today?) Why would God use such a blunt instrument as war to bring judgment to evildoers? Why not just strike the guilty ones dead? Throughout the Old Testament God punishes innocent people for the sins of their neighbors or kings. How is this just?

5. There is a great deal of evidence in the OT that as the king goes, so goes the nation. Good kings, both Jewish and Gentile, lead their people to righteousness and obedience, and wicked kings lead them to idolatry and depravity, generally with very little resistance. And yet it is usually the king's subjects who bear the brunt of God's wrath. (See 1 Chron 21, especially v.17.) Why? If God felt the need to bring an end to a nations wickedness, couldn't he have killed the wicked king and replace him with a righteous one, a la Saul and David? Not only would this be more just (or at least, more merciful) but it would increase the number of righteous nations, rather than simply decreasing the number of unrighteous ones. And if God determines who becomes king (as Jesus and Paul seem to think) how can He punish the people when the leader He gives them leads them astray?

6. God makes a point of saying that the Israelites were no better than the nations they conquered, and the prophets tell us they even surpassed other nations in wickedness. But God is patient with Israel, because of a covenant made with their forefather Abraham. (Another covenant, with David, allows a dynasty of almost entirely wicked kings to rule Judah for centuries. These kings lead Judah into great evil, and the people of Judah ultimately suffer the consequences of their kings' actions. Likewise Israel is scattered forever because of their wicked kings.) If God can be patient with Israel, ultimately redeeming them and never ceasing to love them, why does he not do this for other nations? We like the idea that God loves every person equally and immeasurably. The OT demonstrates (and states explicitly) that God loved (loves?) Israel more than others. Why? Surely it is not a special genetic trait of the Israelites that they are redeemable, whereas the best possible fate for other wicked nations is to be annihilated quickly, to save their descendants from God's wrath. I think we must admit that God could have dealt much more mercifully with wicked gentile nations. If annihilation is a mercy, it is a small mercy, like that of a judiciary system which kills convicts who could be rehabilitated, and sees itself as merciful for sparing them still crueler punishments.

7. I'm not aware of any Biblical mention of genocide as an act of mercy. On the contrary, it is generally portrayed as an outpouring of God's wrath. I doubt that the author of Psalm 137 was writing out of compassion for Babylonian babies.

There are other arguments in defense of the supposedly God-ordered OT genocides, most of which I find similarly unconvincing, but which I will not deal with here. If you'd like to take a look at some of the Biblical stories of genocide and commands to carry out genocide, here are a few: Num 31, Deut 2, 7, 20, Josh 10, 11 (note v.20), 1 Sam 15, 27, Est 9. Of course circumstances differ, and some of these genocides may be easier to excuse than others (some may not even be genocides in the strictest sense) but mercy - for children or anyone else - doesn't seem to have much to do with any of these cases.

Why Parables?

2006-11-07T15:18:00.000-07:00

In church the other day we looked at the three parables in Luke 15: the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. What struck me about them was their differences, specifically the difference between how sheep, coins, and sons are lost and found. A sheep is a dumb animal that wanders off, a coin is misplaced by the owner, and a son rebels. Similarly, the shepherd searches for the sheep and the woman searches the coin, but the father waits for the son to return on his own. Is one parable more accurate than the others?

It's interesting that Jesus apparently told these three stories in one sitting, to illustrate the same concept. Why three stories? Why not just one? Maybe he was using repetition to reinforce one main point, and maybe we shouldn't look too closely at the details. An analogy can only be taken so far. (As a friend pointed out, we shouldn't conclude from the shepherd analogy that God intends to shear, sell, or eat us.) But how far? Maybe we should look no further than the punchline of all three parables: that God cares about the salvation of the lost more than about those who don't need to be saved.

But even this doesn't sit well us. Strangely, all three parables include a non-lost group: other coins, sheep, or a son who needed no saving, which doesn't fit at all with our theology. Also, all three stories end completely happily - every sheep, coin, and son is found and restored - which will bother non-universalists. So maybe all we can draw from these stories is that God really cares about lost people and wants them back. (Which makes it sound like everyone start off on good terms with God, and then goes astray. Even this won't be acceptable for some.)

In the light of this, it seems to me that we can't have much confidence that any given element of a parable is accurate or true. Maybe you really like, for example, the way the Father runs out and embraces his son and gives him a ring. It doesn't seem like we have any reason for thinking that this part of the story is in any sense true to life.

This makes me wonder if these stories are less like allegories and more like ink-blot tests. You see what you want to see in them, and you ignore the rest as narrative dressing. So why would Jesus so often use such an imprecise and easily misunderstood method to convey important theological truths?

I don't have a really good answer for this. (I certainly would have done it differently.) But it's interesting to me that Jesus tends to revert to storytelling when he speaks about theology, as opposed to moral issues, about which he tends to speak more plainly. Today we generally try to be as clear as possible about doctrine. We favor creeds, worded as carefully as legal documents, to stories. Jesus never gave a creed. His method seems designed to encourage diverse interpretations. I don't know exactly what to make of this. Does Jesus place little value on orthodoxy? Does he want to hide the truth from those who don't deserve it? Or is it that theological realities are so ineffable that it is better to hint at them in vague stories than to try to pin them down with the precision of a creed?

Shane's Reply

2006-11-05T22:52:00.000-07:00

Those who read Jeff's comments following my recent post on The Irresistible Revolution may be interested to know that I emailed Shane Clairborne about his concerns, and he sent me a response. He said he chose to publish with Zondervan intentionally, as an act of "revolutionary subordination" (John Yoder's phrase). He didn't want to "preach to the choir", but to mainstream evangelical culture, and Zondervan was willing to publish what he wanted to say. Similarly, the cover is designed to be something that might catch the eyes of kids within the Christian subculture (Shane was once one of them). He also says they wanted his face on the cover, but "I told them that it had to look like I was hiding behind the cover, could not show over half my face... And that there had to be a collage of other beautiful faces on the inside cover as you open it up."

Women and Defective Levites

2006-11-02T23:52:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Lucid Elusion makes an excellent point about women's roles in the church in this post. I thought about posting my thoughts on the matter here, but decided to leave him a comment instead. I'd be curious to hear what others think.

The Detour

2006-10-30T23:55:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting one: compare the events following Jesus' birth as recorded in Matthew 2 and Luke 2. Luke says Jesus' family journeyed to Jerusalem shortly after Jesus' birth, and went from there to Nazareth. Matthew says they first returned to Bethlehem, then fled to Egypt - a four year detour - before settling in Nazareth out of fear of Herod's successor.

That's a little odd, isn't it? Can we harmonize these two accounts? The key verse seems to be Luke 2:39:

When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth.

This verse seems to implicitly deny the return to Bethlehem and flight to Egypt, but my NIV Study Bible tells me that Luke simply decided not to record it. So the verse could be read:

When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they [went back to Bethlehem, stayed there for close to two years, were visited by Magi, fled to Egypt and stayed another two years, then] returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth.

This is a bit much for me, but those who need the Bible to be contradiction-free probably won't have difficulty with it. I think Luke would have to say something like "they did not return to Bethlehem, nor go to Egypt at any time, but went immediately Nazareth, where they lived until Jesus was grown" to sway those dead-set on inerrancy. It seems to me that such an explicit contradiction is unlikely to appear in any text, and if you were to interpret the texts of other religions so generously, you would find that a great many of them are also "inerrant" or "without contradictions".

Furthermore, if you insist that Luke has simply made a misleading omission here, it seems to me that you must allow for the possibility of other such omissions. This opens up all kinds of possibilities that a more straight-forward reading of the Bible seems to preclude, because anything that text does not explicitly deny could have happened. To me, this seems to defeat the purpose of having an inerrant scripture.

The Irresistible Revolution

2006-10-23T21:03:00.000-06:00

This is an excellent book. I hesitate to say that Shane Claiborne has got Christianity right, or that this book represents the true understanding of Jesus' teachings - I'm becoming less confident about such statements. But I think what it advocates is a very good understanding of Christian discipleship, and I mean good in the sense of being of great practical benefit to both the practitioner and the surrounding world.

I'm starting to have an understanding of Christianity as far less about what you believe or what you feel or what you do on Sunday morning, and far more about how you live your life. (Again, I'm not saying this is the correct way to understand Christianity, but it resonates with me.) And I think the way-of-life Christianity that I'm draw to looks a lot like what Shane describes here.

The second half of the book gets talking a lot about politics, and war specifically, and I found it a little disappointing. It's not that I think these things shouldn't be spoken of, or that they're completely out of place with what he said earlier. But he has a few contentious points (eg. "all war is bad") which he keeps coming back to but never really supports. It was definitely thought-provoking, but not very persuasive.

Nonetheless, this is an excellent and very challenging book, and I strongly recommend it. I have a copy you could borrow, but this may be a good one to buy for yourself. For one thing, he's giving away all the profits.

What is Truth?

2006-10-19T23:19:00.000-06:00

I had a chat with a Muslim guy the other day. He was very nice - friendly, engaging, passionate. He was raised as a Catholic but converted to Islam because it made more sense to him. He firmly believes that Islam is the truth, and that this will become evident to anyone who earnestly seeks truth and asks God for guidance.

This is troubling for me. The Mormon missionaries I met the recently are also certain of their beliefs, and are certain that any sincere and humble seeker will come to see the truth of their beliefs. A great many Christians believe the same thing about their beliefs. The same is true for many Atheists, many Muslims, and presumably many people of nearly any other religion. I imagine there are even Agnostics who believe that any honest, thinking person will eventually become an Agnostic. (Of course there are people within each religion who disagree.)

Most of the confident religious people I've talked to (I mean confident that they're right and everyone can know it) are not particularly troubled by this. Sure, they know that lots of people from all religious camps are just as confident, but their own reasons for confidence are so great that they can't really imagine being mistaken. I don't fault them for this, nor do I consider myself somehow beyond this elevation of personal experience over that of others. But seeing this, I can't help but be discouraged about my quest. I feel like I may be able to find some place I fit in the religious world, but to find truth? That is beyond any of us.

This whole concept isn't really new to me, but sometimes I like to forget it. To know truth is a hard dream to let go.

John's Baptism

2006-10-14T23:56:00.000-06:00

From my "Wacky stuff in the Bible" file:

While Apollos was at Corinth, Paul took the road through the interior and arrived at Ephesus. There he found some disciples and asked them, "Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?"

They answered, "No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit."

So Paul asked, "Then what baptism did you receive?"

"John's baptism," they replied.

Paul said, "John's baptism was a baptism of repentance. He told the people to believe in the one coming after him, that is, in Jesus." On hearing this, they were baptized into the name of the Lord Jesus. When Paul placed his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues and prophesied.
-Acts 19:1-6

This might not strike you as strange if you're charismatic, but if you're not, it probably should. To paraphrase, Paul meets a group of "disciples" (we prefer the term "believers" - why, do you think?) and asks them if they've received the Spirit of God. The disciples are pretty sure they haven't, in fact, they've never heard of the Spirit.

(I think the idea of being indwelt by the essence of God would sound a little odd to someone who'd never heard of it before. It would probably also sound like something very significant, and very difficult to miss - not something you'd have to tell someone about, as in "If you're a Christian you have the Holy Spirit", but something you in-your-face obvious, as in "I see you're filled with God's Spirit; you must be a Christian")

Paul's reaction is, "If you don't have the Spirit, then just whose disciples are you?" They say John's. "That explains it," Paul says, "John was all about repentance. John called people to turn from their sins because the chosen one was coming. Well good news: he's come!" Evidently these people were persuaded (persuaded how, I wonder) and were baptized in Jesus' name. Once they'd proclaimed their devotion to Jesus (Baptism, I'm told, was the official way to declare your discipleship to someone), Paul lays his hands on them, and "the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues and prophesied."

All of this sounds pretty weird to me. I'm not sure what it all means. But what it seems to say is that there's a difference between repentance and receiving the Spirit, and that receiving the Spirit is very palpable and dramatic. The whole thing sounds strikingly similar to what John himself says in Matt 3:11: "I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me will come one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not fit to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire."

Old photo!

2006-10-06T21:58:00.000-06:00

Q. Hey Jacob, have you always been awesome?
A. Yes, I have always been awesome.

Sorry, I just found this in my closet and I couldn't resist. That's me on a kindergarten field trip, back when I was cute (and slightly less arrogant).

The Great Banquet - JHV

2006-10-03T21:00:00.000-06:00

This is a follow-up to my previous post, "The Plan Bs". Some of my readers felt that the details of the story which I take issue with may not have been intended to be so closely examined. They suggested that we're meant to focus only on the major point of the story - seemingly that the Jews rejected Jesus - and not the details, such as which guests the host seems to prefer, and his motivation for "dragging in" his B-list guests. I think this position is valid, particularly in the light of other, more popular Bible stories, but in my view the distateful elements of this story are quite central, and it seems pretty unlikely that they would have been tossed in just to flesh out the story, particularly if the theology they insinuate was as abhorrent to the teller as it is to us.

To demonstrate how easily these ugly details could have been left out of the story or altered, I've re-written the parable:

For there was once a man who threw a great dinner party and invited everyone in town - rich and poor, old friends and strangers alike. When it was time for dinner, he sent out his servant to the invited guests, saying, "Come on in; the food's on the table."

Many hungry people came, many outcasts, and many who had never met the host before. But few (not none) of his wealthy friends showed up.

Some made excuses. One said, "I bought a piece of property and need to look it over. Send my regrets."

Another said, "I just bought five teams of oxen, and I really need to check them out. Send my regrets."

And yet another said, "I just got married and need to get home to my wife."

Others expressed their indignation that the host would invite screw-ups, paupers and whores to a great banquet. They wouldn't be caught dead in the company of such people.

The master was saddened to hear that his friends had turned him down, but delighted to see the poor and the outcasts flocking in.

"Very well," he told his servant, "let the rejects be welcomed, let the hungry be filled, and let the snobs go without."

- Luke 14:16-24 (Jacob Heretical Version)

Like any metaphor, this one surely has it's flaws and limitations, but I think it manages not to suggest anything seriously problematic about God or salvation. Would it have been so hard for Jesus to tell the story this way, instead of making salvation for the gentiles (or whoever are represented by the replacements) seem like an afterthought or a less-than-ideal plan B, only made possible by the rejection of the favored guests?

The Plan Bs

2006-09-29T23:43:00.000-06:00

This parable really bothers me:

"For there was once a man who threw a great dinner party and invited many. When it was time for dinner, he sent out his servant to the invited guests, saying, 'Come on in; the food's on the table.'

"Then they all began to beg off, one after another making excuses. The first said, 'I bought a piece of property and need to look it over. Send my regrets.'

"Another said, 'I just bought five teams of oxen, and I really need to check them out. Send my regrets.'

"And yet another said, 'I just got married and need to get home to my wife.'

"The servant went back and told the master what had happened. He was outraged and told the servant, 'Quickly, get out into the city streets and alleys. Collect all who look like they need a square meal, all the misfits and homeless and wretched you can lay your hands on, and bring them here.'

"The servant reported back, 'Master, I did what you commanded - and there's still room.'

"The master said, 'Then go to the country roads. Whoever you find, drag them in. I want my house full! Let me tell you, not one of those originally invited is going to get so much as a bite at my dinner party.'"
- Luke 14:16-24 (Message)

For me this raises all kinds of questions: Is the banquet hall of God not big enough for everyone? Did God make a guest list of certain people he wanted at His table? Was this list made up of privileged people - the type who can buy property and oxen - and not "the misfits and homeless and wretched"? (This seems strange in light of what Jesus said immediately before.) Were religious Jews God's intended guests, and was the acceptance of sinners and Samaritans His plan B? (Paul seems to think so.) Did God have no interest in those who really need a good meal until His well-fed friends shunned him? Did He invite - or "drag in", another big theological issue - the poor and ragged out of kindness and love, or did He want to fill His table simply to thumb his nose at the wealthy no-shows? If there had been enough bums in the city streets, would He ever have sent his servant to those in the country? And what of those who were neither invited initially nor found in the servant's last-minute scramble?

On all these points the story seems dramatically at odds with our cherished beliefs and intuitions about God. I find it particularly hard to believe that the prostitutes and sinners Jesus so radically and graciously embraced are God's plan Bs, his second choices for salvation. On the other hand, such a view wouldn't be wholly at odds with scripture. What do you make of this?

I've struggled with the theology of Jesus' parables before (fleshed out here), and sometimes I wonder if I subject them to too much scrutiny. Maybe they're just crude, off-the-cuff stories meant to explain a basic point without concern for any of the peripheral details. Do you think the only conclusion we're meant to draw from this story is that God is gracious to ne'er-do-wells? Couldn't a story be told that illustrates this point without all the nasty and (hopefully) misleading details of this one?

Maybe the parable isn't about what we think it is. I know, for example, that "God's kingdom" doesn't always mean the place we go when we die, and that many Biblical statements that seem clear and straightforward to my ears are understood differently by many who are more knowledgeable than myself. And I'm sure there are many who can explain this difficult parable in the light of clearer passages, or, to be cynical, passages that more clearly corroborate our cherished dogmas. Perhaps the real lesson to be learned is that Jesus meant for his parables to confuse people.

Phun with Philosophy!

2006-09-25T17:31:00.000-06:00

I recently discovered The Philosopher's Magazine Online, which includes some very exciting (to me) "games". I recommend all except "Strange New World" and the interactive philosophy quiz. The games deal with some pretty relevant and interesting topics, such as God, ethics, and consistency, and I think they'd be fairly accessible for those without a background in philosophy, although I'm probably a bad judge of that. The activities may be particularly worthwhile for those who have a feeling that philosophy is so much horse poo*, those who just want an introduction to some of the big questions it addresses, and those who think they're right about everything. Check 'er out.

*I don't want to give the impression that none of philosophy (or what we call philosophy) is horse poo. In the words of Cicero, "There is nothing so absurd but some philosopher has said it." But a lot of it's hella good.

A Pickle for the Literalists

2006-09-15T23:57:00.000-06:00

The bulk of this post is an discussion of a chronological disagreement in Genesis, which may or may not interest you. You're welcome to go directly to the last paragraph if you wish - it's the part I really care about.

An interesting point was raised today in my Intro to World Religions class. We were looking at the two Creation accounts in Genesis (1:1-2:3 and 2:4-25) and my prof mentioned that the there are chronological differences between them. In the first version, animals are created after plants, then humans (male and female together) after animals. In the second version Adam seems to be created before at least some plants, then animals are created, then Eve. The disagreement seems most clear on the matter of whether the animals were created before or after Adam. The NIV tries to reconcile the two accounts by inserting a "had" into Gen 2:19 ("Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air") whereas most translations simply say "formed". The NIV's interpretation is not impossible - the original Hebrew verbs apparently didn't have tense - but consider the context:

The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him."

Now [or "so", "then", "and"] the LORD God [had?] formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.

But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the LORD God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man's ribs and closed up the place with flesh. Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.
- Gen 2:18-22

To paraphrase, God notes that it isn't good for the man to be alone. The solution is to make for him a suitable partner. So either God now creates a variety of potential helpers for man and brings them before him, or God decides that before he creates Adam's helper, He'll task him with naming the thousands of birds and animals he's created so far. Which makes more sense to you?

Similarly, it is possible to understand Gen 2:5 to say that only those plants that require rain or human cultivation had not yet been created, or that they had been created as seeds but had not yet sprouted. But then it would seem that either Adam, who was in a garden full of fruit trees, spent a fair amount of time cultivating and watering crops, or after the fall, undaunted by thorns and toil, he decided to grow every kind of crop he could. Neither seems likely to me. Nor does it seem likely that God, after creating Adam, decided that he wanted him to live in a garden, and that the garden should be in a very specific location where no trees had been created, and accordingly hastened to make there a variety of trees that already existed in other areas. (The creation of a new garden at this point when the constituent trees existed elsewhere seems particularly unlikely if God is on a tight schedule, as I'll discuss in a moment.) More likely God created a garden out of new sorts of fruitful trees and crops now that man (and later animals) existed to nurture and consume them. Or more likely still, Gen 2:5-9 refers to the creation of all plants, which the other creation account places before the creation of man.

One further difficulty in harmonizing the two accounts occurs to me. Assuming that most who wish to do so will also affirm a literal 6 days of creation (which I find problematic for more reasons than I'll list here) it seems that the sixth day of creation in particular was a whirlwind of activity. God creates all land animals (1:24-25), forms Adam from dust (2:7), plants a garden and puts Adam in it (2:8-9), gives him instructions (2:15-17), notes that Adam is alone and needs a helper (2:18), and parades every living bird and beast before Adam to be named (2:19-20. A biologist might be able to guess at how many animals were named and how long it might take, but I can't see even a rush job - quite unlikely for an awestruck man seeing each creature for the first time and assessing it as a companion - taking less than a few hours). Then God puts Adam to sleep, removes a rib, forms a woman out of it, and presents her to Adam (Do you think Adam slept for only a few minutes?) who expresses his approval (2:21-23). Finally, God gives blessings and instructions to the pair (1:28-30). I don't know if it would be possible to do all of this in one day, but supposing it is, why would God be in such a hurry? Apparently because the whole of creation absolutely must be wrapped up before the seventh day in order to set an example for the Hebrews, and everything that wasn't done by the fifth must be crammed into the sixth. It seems to me that God would have planned that better.

My point in all of this is that we ought to recognize that the Bible is a very, very old document from a radically different culture. This is not to say that either or both of the creation accounts - or anything else in the Bible - is untrue (at least in the ways it was intended to be true) but such stories can hardly be expected to conform to our modern cultural and literary conventions. This means that things that might seem like distortions or tall tales to us likely didn't seem that way to the original readers. How else can you explain their acceptance of chronological disagreements both here and in the Gospels, Jude's allusions to myths, or sketchy fulfillments of prophecies in the Gospels, among other issues? Many Christians deal with all such "problem passages" by denying that they are out of tune with our modern expectations - a position which I believe to be not only indefensible but implausible and unnecessary. It seems clear to me that we should seek not to make the Bible conform to our modern expectations, but to understand it as it was meant to be understood. It is critical that we ask the question "how would the original readers have understood this text?" before we claim to understand it ourselves. And if we cannot say with certainty how the ancient Hebrew authors meant it to be understood (which happens far more often than we want it to), it is, frankly, foolish and dangerous to be dogmatic about our own understandings.

A New Direction

2006-09-06T23:40:00.000-06:00

Or What's Going Down in My Life, Part 2

I think my biggest reason for suspecting that Christianity is true is the experiences of other Christians. Of course a lot of us lead very average lives and experience nothing that cannot easily be explained naturalistically. However, I've heard several stories that are much more difficult to explain - fantastic coincidences, mysterious healings, answered prayers, etc. Taken together, they make me suspect that something supernatural occasionally interacts with the lives of Christians. I don't know why this might happen, why it happens in some cases and not others, or why it doesn't happen more, but it does seem to happen.

The fact that Christian faith tends to be based in no small part on first- or secondhand experiences brings to my mind the obvious question of why people of other religions believe what they do. Do they have similar experiences? If not, what reasons do they have for believing? If so, what does this say about the truth of their religious beliefs? Or ours? And why aren't more people asking these questions? (See WGDIML Part 1.)

I suppose the biggest reason most Christians are uninterested in the experiences of others is that most of us have firsthand experiences which we believe to be of divine origin, and they satisfy most of our curiosities about God. I, on the other hand, don't believe I've ever experienced anything overtly supernatural, despite earnestly seeking such experiences. Christianity has done nothing to satisfy my longings for relationship with the divine. Naturally, this causes me to be skeptical about many claims of Christianity that most others take for granted, and to wonder whether other religions can deliver what Christians have taught me to long for. It also makes me wonder if those who speak loudly about the faults and flaws of other religions are blinded by their positive experiences with their own, and whether we're not all more or less seeking the same things and experiencing the same things and condemning the same things in others. I wonder if I was cut out to be a Christian, whether my fear and laziness have kept me from something better, or whether I've simply had too high expectations of Christianity and God, or whether I would have found what I was looking for if I hadn't given up so soon.

There aren't many things I know, but I'm confidant of this: I need to take an honest look at other religions and their adherents. I need to interact with them and worship with them. Especially, I need to hear their stories. I must do this because I need to know what's out there. I need to know whether I can find what I seek outside of Christianity before I seek further inside it. There is an aspect of Christianity that rings true to me, but other aspects do not. I cannot progress as a seeker or as a Christian without looking seriously at my other options.

This whole thing is very exciting to me. I have a bit of a plan, but I'm really not sure what all I'm going to do or where it might lead me. (I have no predetermined destination.) I'm pretty sure that God wants me to do this (as sure as I've ever been about God's will) but I'm very aware that this whole exercise could be fruitless or even detrimental without his support and guidance. If you're the praying sort, please ask that He would direct my paths on this new journey. I'll keep you updated.

Kind of Back

2006-09-03T00:01:00.000-06:00

Camp is over. It was good - very good - but I'm excited to start school. I'm pretty much only taking awesome courses this year. Also, something else is happening this year that I'm quite excited about, but you'll have to wait for What's Going Down In My Life, Part 2 for that.

Speaking of which, I am trying to get back to writing again, but my blogging muscles have grown flabby it the last four months, and I'm having a hard time completing posts. But I'm working on it.

In the mean time here are some interesting things I've read recently while skimming through some of my four month backlog of Bloglines posts:

Seeker has some interesting thoughts about knowledge and beliefs here and here.

Bruce found an amusing website.

Jim linked to this very thought-provoking piece on sodomy.

And this trailer gives me chills. What I find remarkable is that it seems to neither praise nor condemn zealous Evangelicals. The movie could be awesome.

Truth and the Deification of Doctrine

2006-08-08T03:05:00.000-06:00

Or What's Going Down in My Life, Part 1

I've been tinkering on this one for over a month, and it still seems awkward, rabbit-traily, and inaccurate. I feel like I'm grasping at something significant but slippery, and I'm having more difficulty than usual making it coherent, either in my head or in writing (this is especially true of the latter half of the post). With this post especially (but also with everything I write) please remember that I do not claim to dispense truth, only my own subjective, poorly conveyed, transient opinions. I publish this post because it is partially out of this quaggy pool of pontifical ponderings that I have come to a fairly significant decision, which I will divulge (hopefully more lucidly) in What's Going Down, Part 2. Anyway, here it is.

A lot of Christians like to talk about truth - how we know the Truth about God, eternity, salvation, and even specific points of doctrine, how you too could discover these truths simply by thinking honestly, reading the Bible, and praying, and how those who persistently disagree with us are running from the truth or twisting the truth or denying of the truth. Many Christians (by no means all) seem to regard themselves as not only genuine seekers but genuine finders of objective, indisputable, God-given truth on a fairly broad rage of topics, and seem to think that those who disagree do so only because they are not honestly seek truth.

I believe that the majority of such Christians are far less open to truth than they think they are, at least when it comes to their foundational religious beliefs. (I do not fault them for their less-than-unqualified pursuit of truth - a common weakness, from which I am by no means exempt - only for being dishonest about it.) Let me explain why I believe this.

It seems to me that if a person - Christian or otherwise - were genuinely interested in the truth about God, she would be eager to look honestly at many different religions, rather than trusting just one set of experiences (even her own). Please note that looking honestly at different religions doesn't mean merely asking your pastor about them or reading books debunking them by Christian authors. Until recently I was afraid to do more than this, and I sense that many Christians are similarly hesitant. We seem to have gotten the idea that to honestly, humbly and open-mindedly consider other religions is tantamount to treachery.

I believe this fear of other religions comes from having personified our beliefs about God, or perhaps even mistaken our beliefs for God himself, and consequently imagining the examination of contrary beliefs to be a form of idolatry; unfaithfulness toward our word-and-concept deity. (As if it is even possible for a creed or doctrine to accurately and sufficiently represent God!) I contend that we owe no allegiance to our religion. To God, certainly, but not to any doctrine or religious sect. A Christian who after honest consideration becomes a Muslim is no more a traitor, a sinner or an apostate than a Muslim who for honest reasons becomes a Christian, a Liberal who becomes a New Democrat, or a Virtue Ethicist who becomes a Utilitarian.

(It may be hard for some to imagine honest enquiry leading someone away from Christianity. Suppose, if you must, that they are mistaken or deceived, and that God will later reveal their error to them. The point I hope you will agree to is that it is possible for an genuine seeker to come, even temporarily, to a different conclusion than you have, and that to do so is no sin. Moreover, if a person feels called to examine his beliefs and seek truth, it would be not only irrational but wrong to refrain from seeking out of fear of incurring the wrath of God.)

The personification (or deification) of doctrine is utterly devastating to the honest pursuit of truth in which so many Christians claim to partake. Moreover, it leads to deceit and hypocrisy when as evangelists we expect members of other religions to subject their beliefs to greater scrutiny that we are willing to subject ours. Most Christians expect non-Christians to critically examine their believes and be willing to reject them if disproved, and yet many feel that to subject Christianity to the same honest scrutiny is unnecessary, or even wrong. I believe that we (all humans) must be willing to drop our allegiance to any doctrine about God, however foundational, should we be convinced of its falsehood. If we cannot do this we are worshippers not of God but of theology, and this is idolatry regardless of whether the doctrines we worship are true or false!

I'm not saying it's wrong not to completely and unreservedly pursue truth, nor am I saying that I do this better than most, nor that Christians in general do this worse than most. (I write exclusively about Christians simply because I know very few non-Christians; something, I think you'd agree, which is unhealthy both for a Christian and for a truth-seeker. I mean to correct this.) I believe there are much more important things than pursuing truth, and some people are perhaps better off for not pursuing it. Someone whose life was transformed by becoming a Christian (or a Hindu, or an Atheist) is unlikely to have much doubt about the truth of his beliefs, and little interest in scrutinizing them. I rejoice for those who are so uplifted, challenged, and changed by their current beliefs that they have no desire to look into any alternatives. I only ask that such people recognize that although personal experiences can give one great confidence, great joy, and a great many other things, they rarely (if ever) given access to exclusive, objective truth. So unless your spiritual experiences include receiving an infallible, essential creed from the hand of an angel, it is probably wise to avoid being dogmatic about the theological inferences you draw from them.

In Lieu of Substance

2006-07-30T17:11:00.000-06:00

I do have big important things to say, but I haven't quite finished saying them yet. (I do a lot of editing.) I'm hoping to be finished the big "What's Going Down in My Life (Part 1?)" in a week or so, but in the mean time, here's some pictures of me jumping off a bridge.

Apparently this is the biggest bungee jump in the world. So, you know, if you're there you've got to do it, right?

Btw, does anyone know how to turn a dvd movie into something internetable? I don't think I have the right gadgets.

Say It Ain't So

2006-07-22T20:46:00.000-06:00

I will keep this short. Not because I have little to say, nor because I think the matter I'm addressing is of little significance, nor because I've finally learned the importance of brevity (someday, perhaps), but because I'm rushing off to camp again tomorrow, and I have little time to spare.

Consider this passage: "I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand {generations} of those who love me and keep my commandments." (Exodus 20:5-6)

Assuming that you're as disgusted with what this verse seems to say as I am, can you please explain to me how God is not saying here that he punishes children for their father's sins?

The Way It Will Have To Be

2006-07-03T23:32:00.000-06:00

I'm back from Africa. I didn't find God, I'm sorry to say. I think I may have been in the wrong part. (It's a big continent, you know.) Hopefully I'll get to do a more thorough search some day. I'm also going to camp in a couple days, which is where I often feel, if not exactly close to God, at least most favorably disposed to him.

I'm starting to wonder again if there's something wrong with me. I mean, I know there are a lot of things wrong with me, but I'm wondering if I suffer from some deep and crippling soul-illness as a result of my personal inadequacies and sins. I have long been aware that I do not see what others see (or think they see) spiritually, but for the most part I've come to accept that I live in the dark. But then every once in a while I wonder if the problem is that I'm just blind, like the dwarves in "The Last Battle".

If I am saved by grace alone, saved from and in spite of my sins, and if I am saved for relationship with God, is it possible that my sins still keep me from the relationship both God and I desire? And is it possible that my sins could still bind me while other's sins do not?

I do not claim to be worthy of relationship with God. I know myself too well for that. I know how sinful I am, and how undisciplined. When I sought God, years ago, I sought impatiently, inexpertly (though not, I believe, insincerely). If you say I sought too briefly, too imperfectly, too greedily or proudly or lazily to expect results, I will agree. But I know that if I mastered myself, overcame my desire and impatience and doubt and human frailty and devoted every breath and thought exclusively to the pursuit of God, I could never merit the intimacy with Him that I seek and so many Christians claim. As a seeker of God I deserve nothing, but which of us deserve more?

I have never heard from God, but then, I seldom speak to him. If there's any spiritual value in Bible reading I doubt I'll ever discover it - I hardly read any more. Worship for me tends to be hollow and tiresome. Tongues, healings and anointings look fake to me, even farcical. And while I could still force myself to attend services, read the Bible daily, even pray, my faith and hope are spent. I could drag myself through disciplines and routines, but I cannot believe that they will bring me to God.

It's not that I don't want to believe, it's that I am no longer able. My choice is to perform a spiritual charade and be miserable, or to ignore God (or at least my desire for him) and be at peace. If I choose the latter, I can continue to strive towards goodness and love. If I choose the former, I will be not only unhappy but ineffective. (Even thinking about this again makes me feel sick, and if I dwell on it I quickly become self-absorbed and self-abusive.)

I haven't entirely given up on earthly intimacy with God, but I am done pursuing it. If it is to happen, God must take the first step. That is the way it will have to be, because my faith is gone.

Introspection

2006-05-21T14:27:00.001-06:00

This post was originally published at Save Africa '06.

The other day Pete happened upon an advertisement for an evening with Phillip Yancey, and I forced everyone to go. Nothing he said was particularly interesting to me, except that his next book, due in September, will be about prayer, and if it really does anything. (I think the title is something like "Prayer: Does it Really Do Anything?") That's kind of exciting for me because I've been thinking about prayer a fair bit recently. I suppose I've been having a bit of a crisis of faith. (This happens to me every so often.) I'm trying to decide whether I really believe in Christianity or if I just say I do because things are easier that way. It's been about nine months since I decided that what one believes is more or less irrelevant, and all that really matters is how one lives. (Hence I claim to be a Christian not because of anything I think or feel, but because I try to follow Jesus in loving people and be selfless. Real Live Preacher argues for this kind of Christianity.) But now I’m wondering if Christianity is more than just a title you can give yourself. Besides being raised in a Christian home and associating with Christians, in what way am I like Christians? I don't read my Bible or pray regularly, in fact I don't even like or understand the Bible and prayer a lot of the time. I've never felt close to God. I don't see God at work in the world or in human lives. I'm drawn somewhat to the life and message of Jesus, but is that alone enough for me to call myself a Christian? I'm not sure what I think about his divinity, his resurrection, miraculous power, etc. (nor do I particularly care), and I know I don’t believe that one must accept these things to escape eternal damnation. I enjoy the perks of calling myself a Christian (community and the opportunity for service) but maybe it’s dishonest.

Not sure what all of this has to do with South Africa. I guess I came here partially because I want to see God at work powerfully and openly, and people tell me Africa is where he does that. Maybe I'm in the wrong part of Africa. Or maybe I'm eating too much steak and thinking too much about the Oilers. But I was at this Yancey thing and they were talking about a prison in South Africa where these people started a Christian ministry and the inmates were transformed and the murder rate plummeted and BBC sent a crew to report on it. I think when I heard that I realized I don’t believe this kind of thing is miraculous at all (good, certainly, and perhaps influenced by God, but not miraculous). This makes me sad.

I think Church is really built on shared experience. A bunch of people can work and worship and fellowship together because they have the same beliefs, and they have the same beliefs largely because they have the same experiences. I wonder if it’s really possible for someone like me who doesn't have those critical beliefs and experiences to be a full member of the club. No matter how much I like the Oilers, no matter how good I feel when I go to their games, no matter how much I want to be a part of the team, I will never be an Oiler, because I suck at hockey. Maybe there’s nothing to be done about that.

New Digs

2006-05-11T11:37:00.000-06:00

1. African internet sucks. Sucks.

2. My blogging for the next two months is likely to be done here. The short version is everything's going good so far. I'm starting to miss people.

I'm Going to South Africa

2006-04-30T00:54:00.000-06:00

I'll be there for two months, leaving May 1. (Good gracious, that's tomorrow!) Shortly after returning I'll be going away to camps for the bulk of July and August. I'm not sure how much Internet access I'll have during this time. In the blogging-est case scenario I'll publish weekly-ish updates packed with exciting stories and pearls of wisdom. (Which would actually be pretty good for me. The astute reader will notice I haven't posted in over two weeks (I blame exams) and my wisdom is a bit hit-and-miss.) It's also quite possible that I'll be pretty scarce for the next four months. I recommend signing up with Feedblitz or Bloglines (in the sidebar) to be notified if and when new content appears.

It's a little bit scary to be going away to a strange and somewhat dangerous country for two months with a couple other guys not renowned for their good sense. Normally a don't do things like this, which is probably part of the reason I decided to go. I figure it's time I stepped outside my comfort zone and did something scary and awesome.

At this point the hardest thing about the trip for me is that it means missing the remainder of the playoffs, in which my beloved Oilers may actually win a series (or more!) for the first time in nine years. It doesn't help that our second round opponents, should we advance, would probably be the Calgary Flames. If you don't immediately understand the significance of a second round playoff series between the Oilers and the Flames, there's nothing I could say that would fully communicate the sense of loss I'm feeling right now. And while I'm sure this will be a wicked trip, if the Oilers win the Cup and I miss it I will probably never recover.

To summarize, I'm gambling two months, thousands of dollars, and more than three rounds of hockey playoffs that this will be a good and meaningful and challenging trip. I would appreciate your prayers, if you're the praying sort.

But someone once told me God is in Africa, so maybe I'll get to talk with him myself.

Pain Revisited

2006-04-14T00:55:00.000-06:00

Devout readers will remember my recent series on the problem of pain (parts I, II, III & IV), which is essentially the question of how gratuitous suffering can exist in a world governed by a powerful and loving God. In discussing this problem with Christians I've often been reminded that God cannot be judged by human standards. The Christian concept of God is a being so great in knowledge, power and love that his actions and motives cannot possibly be understood my mere mortals. Inevitably, any attempt to judge such a being by human criteria will be insufficient and inaccurate. "God has a reason we can't understand" is the answer to any unanswerable question, and no divine act is to (seemingly) monstrous to be excused by our ignorance. This is certainly a powerful defense, but what is it's price? Sam Harris (truthdig.com) makes the following observation (thanks to the Questioning Christian):

If God exists, either he can do nothing to stop the most egregious calamities or he does not care to. God, therefore, is either impotent or evil. Pious readers will now execute the following pirouette: God cannot be judged by merely human standards of morality. But, of course, human standards of morality are precisely what the faithful use to establish God's goodness in the first place.

I think he makes a good point. It doesn't seem possible to prove that a good God does not exist based on human experience, knowledge, and logic, but if theists wish to dismiss the argument on these grounds, they cannot then turn and offer their own empirical proofs in support of a good God.

But it seems that we do this all the time. Every week in my church people stand up and proclaim the goodness of God as it is evident in their personal life. No one qualifies these testimonials with the reminder that we don't understand God and it's quite possible that the things he does that seem good to us are actually evil. Nor should they.

I believe these experiences - apparent answers to prayer, encouraging thoughts, etc. - are good and valid, and I'm glad for the encouragement they seem to bring. But it's one thing to let your perspective and your experiences to encourage you; it's quite another to use them to persuade others of the validity of your beliefs. Debate and evangelism have their own set of rules.

We have a choice: either we can debate the existence of God using empirical evidence (recognizing that we cannot be certain about our conclusions) or we dismiss all such evidence. We cannot present our experiences as substantiation of God's goodness and not give credence to counterexamples.

Whatever Befall

2006-04-10T13:39:00.000-06:00

This is a story I wrote two years ago for a Bible School project. The writing is a bit embarrassing now (as all my old writing is) but for some reason I've decided to dredge it up and post it here, maybe because I've finally thought of the right ending for it (the last two lines). Two years ago I was struggling with many apparent intellectual problems with my Christian faith and wondering what might happen if I became utterly convinced that Christianity was irrational. This story was an attempt to put myself in that place and see what comes of it. Here she is:

I awoke in a place and time unfamiliar to me. My surroundings were hazy. My mind was muddled. I cannot say how long it took me to become fully conscious, or if indeed I ever was more than half awake, for my senses never regained their normal sharpness. My first coherent thought was that everything was wrong. I was not in my car. I was not in the hospital, or in my home, or any place familiar to me. Indeed, I doubted very much that my current location was familiar to any who walk upon the Earth. I came slowly to the realization that I was dead. Yes, that fit with what I knew. The icy roads, the blare of horns, the dimly remembered sirens and the dull pain. I recalled vaguely the perception of a comfort and warmth, and the rather detached feeling of my body giving in to oblivion. I was dead.

Far from clarifying the situation, this realization further compounded my confusion. I was not on Earth, at least, I felt only dimly the sensations associated with normal physical existence. My limbs felt leaden, my senses were dimmed, and I seemed to be in a thick fog. The ground beneath me was shifting, like fine sand, but I hardly felt its impression. Gravity, light, and sound were nearly muted. I noticed with some interest that I was not breathing, nor did I feel the need to. My heart, I perceived, was not beating. Yes, I was dead.

I soon gave up straining to move or interact with my environment. There was nowhere to go, nothing to see, and movement seemed to grow less natural by the moment. I concentrated on thinking. My mind, at least, still seemed sharp.

The questions returned. What was going on? How did I come to this place? Had I somehow become trapped or misplaced? Where was God? I became almost frantic in my frustration. How could this happen? Surely… no, this is not heaven. It could not be. But neither, I hastened to add, was it Hell. This was neither a place of torment, nor a glorious new dwelling. It was not the great reality that I had previously seen only as a dim reflection. If anything, this place was the dim reflection. It was almost nothingness. It was barren and shapeless, devoid of both pain and pleasure. What had become of me?

At least I still had some remnant of my emotions, though I reflected that this situation would have caused me exponential fear and frustration in life. My life. Perhaps that was the key. Had I done something to void my salvation? Had I doubted too much? Questioned too deeply? I had thought intermittently about my inevitable death, and yes, I had doubted my acceptance into paradise, but how could this have shaken my eternal security? I reviewed my knowledge of the Bible's teachings.

Nothing. I know it, I’m sure. There is no way this could happen. I’m clearly not in heaven, nor in hell, nor do I the vaguest idea how I came to be where I am. My theology does not allow for this sort of thing. I am a human being, made in the image of God. He knit me together, he knows my coming and my going, and is familiar with all my ways. He knows the number of the hairs on my head. I trusted in him. I placed my soul in his hands! My name was written in the Book of Life – how could it have been erased? How could I become misplaced? Was I lost in the cosmic bustle of a God too absorbed in great matters to notice the fall of one small sparrow? No – unthinkable. My God could not do such a thing. And yet here I am, a faded wisp of spirit wavering on the edge of nothingness. Where is God?

Perhaps I was wrong. Yes, it's obvious now – I've been deceived. Those preachers were fools, speaking of omniscient God and his ways, as if they knew the pattern of the universe. That book I read – always out of obligation, always out of duty and vague commitment – I saw now that it must be nonsense, the ravings and ramblings of the delusional hangers-on of a dusty lunatic, broken by toil and love and driven by mad courage. Foolish, contradictory nonsense, as I now saw. Jumbled and fractured by two thousand years of copying, two thousand years of bloated, corrupt bureaucracy, tweaking and twisting to pad it’s own pockets. How many years had I played their game! Lying to myself, beating my intellect into submission to my frail, grasping heart. Only idiots and fanatics degrade themselves thus, doting on a fickle heart at the expense of an honest mind. If I had only scraped the mud from my eyes I would have seen this sham for what it is: flimsy and foolish. But blindly I swallowed the lies, longing for a fairly-tale ending to a flawed life. My mind, had I allowed it, would have seen the madness of such a hope. What in life suggests such a happily-ever-after? The worse a man’s circumstances, the more his heart longs for heaven, and the more his head tells him it is absurd. I am a fool.

(In this way I brooded for some time – or so I supposed, for time is a tough guess in this place – but presently I quieted myself, and put my mind to work.)

I suppose I am now an atheist. I like the sound of that – it sounds like books and great buildings and the power of the human mind. An atheist is strong, proud, alone. An honest and discerning being, undaunted by the honey-lies of idealistic religion. Alone. Alone and unafraid. How fitting – indeed, natural – that I should be one: I who am certainly and truly alone.

But no, it was not true. I cannot make this claim, for I am neither great nor proud enough. I am low, wretched. No! Not wretched – too close to the groveling humility of the self-abased slaves of religion. (To think that I was once one!) Not wretched, but not great. I am a man, just a man, neither worm nor god, and I cannot claim the lofty crown of the intellectual atheist. My mind, too great for the degradation of religion is yet too small for the bold defiance of atheism. I am a man – what can I know? My mind is my greatest, my only asset, but it is insufficient for such a task as finding god. Such things surpass me, and I would be no less a fool to deny transcendent god as to confirm him. Besides, my current state of being is perhaps as far removed from atheistic nothingness as from Christian paradise. I see that the proud, defiant atheist is as much in the dark as the smug, slavish zealot. There is only one thing for a man to be (especially a man such as myself, doomed to this absurd semi-being.) I am an agnostic.

I know my limits. I make no outrageous claims, for who am I to speak of God? Perhaps there is such a being, or perhaps not, but it is beyond my skill to say. The one glaring clarity in my present state is that no one on earth knows a thing about the "life to come". Each religion and creed is proved equally wrong by my inexplicable limbo. But I do know beyond all doubt that the gentle Jesus of my youth is a fraud. I have the loneliness of an atheist with the lowliness of a religious lackey. The worst of both worlds, I suppose.

But this is odd – my heart betrays me. Treacherous, idiot heart! How can you, my downfall, the traitorous ruin of my honest mind, how can you yet interfere with me? How can you yet whisper your sweet poison in my ear? Fool! I would rip you from my chest with my own hand if only I could end your slanderous hope. What are you saying to me? Shut up! Shut up about your Jesus – I want no part in him. I trusted him, and look where he's left me! You were always on his side, and even now you have the gall to come gloating in my ruin! How dare you trust! How dare you cling to the shambles of that fairytale hope when all logic screams against you?

(I am furious now. My body is numb, but my mind howls and froths at my idiot heart. I strain against this maddening voice lodged in the core of my being, which even now speaks softly of a gentle shepherd and his lunatic love.)

How fallen I am! It seems that my years of mindless trusting have formed a habit so deep that it defies the cold facts of my monstrous new existence. I remember now, to my shame, how many times my heart-driven madness led me to beg safekeeping from that Jesus. How as a child I had lain in bed and wept with fear, swearing my life and strength to him if he would but give me peace. How as a young man driven by passion I had bound myself to him again and again, vowing to serve him forever, pleading him to seal me in his service. I need no explanation for my predicament – I have drilled my enslavement into my own mind over long years of devotion. I had made Jesus my identity, grafting him into my bones and spirit, and even now, with all his promises proved to be dust and gravel, I am stuck fast in eternal submission to him. I am not my own being. I have surrendered myself and am held fast to Jesus Christ, whether he is a god or a devil or merely a tortured fool like myself.

I am humble – if not in temperament yet still in status. I am truly a wretch, as I said so frivolously on earth. Who could be more wretched then a man who has seen his devastating blunder so clearly, yet chooses – no, is compelled – to continue in it? Was there ever such a wretch as I, driven in my heart to madness, crawling in the slime of psychosis yet aware of my state and appalled by my helpless abasement? Jesus, oh Jesus. (How shameless am I to call that name!) Jesus! Lord, Lord! Have mercy on me Son of David!

(At some point I come to feel that there are two voices in my head, and they are having a great argument. There are no words to explain such a thing, but I fell like a spectator in my own mind, listening to my two natures – doubt and faith – struggle for dominance.)

"Stop it! Have you no pride? You're only degrading yourself further."
"I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry…"
"Idiot. You still cling to your dreams? All right, let's wait and see if he'll hear you."
"…He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire."
"Go on! You're a coward and a fool. But we've got time. Let's see if your God will save you."
"Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?"
"Always your faith is mixed with doubt. Perhaps that's why he abandoned you."
"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength."
"Oh give it up! You make me sick with your sniveling."
"How long, Oh Lord? Will you forget me forever?"
"Forget it! You're a worthless, abandoned wretch! He does not love you!"
"Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint."
"Ha ha! I see it now. Isn't it obvious? We're in Hell."
"He will never leave you nor forsake you."
"Open your eyes! You are forsaken! You have been cast into Hell, and you'll rot here forever!"
"Oh God!"
"You can think, fool. What is Hell but separation from God?"
"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
"That's right fool. You're finished. You are forsaken and you're prayers will not be heard."
"My God, my God…"
"He never loved you. He's always lied to you. He has betrayed and ruined you!"
"God! God! Oh Jesus, please!"
"He hates you! You are an object of his wrath! You are the plaything of a sadistic, unjust God."
"But who are you, O man, to talk back to God?"
"And who are you, you sub-human muck, to speak for him?"
"Oh God."
"Now be silent, slime. Shut your filthy mouth and rid your heart of that cursed hope."
"Who are you?"
"Who am I? You know who I am, wretch."
"You tempt me. You are Satan."
"Close, wretch, very close. I am you."
"How can that be?"
"Think, wretch. You are schizophrenic – all Christians are. You have added to your natural doubt and evil a grimy facsimile of goodness and hope. Do you wonder that you cannot function? You are at war with yourself! How can you maintain your sanity?"
"I can win. I can overcome you…"
"No! No, you fool! Look at yourself! Look at your festering soul! The whole universe reeks with your evil. Your sin and doubt are a plague that infects all creation and brings decay and death to everything it touches."
"But he loves me."
"No, he doesn't. Look around you. Think."
"I've looked. I've thought. It makes no difference. My heart is steadfast, and no amount of truth or reality can change my convictions."
"You are a fool."
"Oh hush. We've established that long ago. I can't help it, so I'll just have to live with it."
"You're just like every religious freak who ever lived. Every true Muslim or Hindu or Mormon or worshipper of Baal thinks as you do."
"You're probably right. But I can't help it."
"You are forced to think the way you do, as they are."
"Perhaps. Who can say?"
"Your precious God chooses a few to believe the truth, and the rest to rot in Hell."
"You may be right."
"And it appears that he has chosen you for Hell."
"So be it."
"Oh shut up, you arrogant, sanctimonious parrot! You talk big, but I feel your anger. You're filled with rage against him."
"I was. I often am. But I'm done with that now."
"You're afraid."
"No, I'm not. You know I'm not, and you know why."
"Do I? Humor me."
"I am not afraid because I trust him. It doesn't matter if he doesn't care, or if He doesn't exist. I trust Him and I love Him, and I can do nothing else. So who cares whether I'm in Heaven or Hell? All I can do is trust, and the rest is up to Him. And if He forsakes me, what concern is that of mine? I'm just his creation, and He can do with me what He wishes. But if I spend the rest of eternity in Hell, does that excuse me from loving and trusting Him?"
"You are mad. You are absolutely out of your mind. Fine, I give up. I cannot reason with you. I'm leaving forever."
"No, that is a lie. You'll be back, and we'll have this same argument again and again. The specifics will be different, but you'll never stop fighting me – unless my Lord comes for me and purges you from me forever."
"It will never happen. You will never be rescued, and I'll never give up. I had you so close to breaking, and you can't hold out forever."
"I suppose I couldn't, in my own strength. But God, it seems, has got a hold of me, no?"
"You're wrong and you're crazy. Good riddance, fool."

(Time passes, in the shifty way that it passes in this place. I reflect.)

This place is not so different from Earth. The distractions are stripped away and the laws of nature are muffled, but the laws of my heart and mind remain the same. And like Earth, the times of rebellion and doubt are quite similar to the isolation and fear of Hell, and the times of contentment, obedience, and surrender are not unlike the great communion of Heaven. I do not know if my Lord will ever come for me and take me from this place. I do not know if he even exists, or is merely the invention of my hope-sick soul. But I do not worry. I trust him. And it seems to me that I cannot do otherwise.

May I reach heaven's joys oh bright heaven's sun
Heart of my own heart whatever befall

Judge For Yourselves

2006-04-02T15:11:00.000-06:00

This made me laugh (thanks to Steve F). In my opinion, there is exactly one legitimate reason for not allowing women to be ministers in our culture, namely that the New Testament explicitly forbids it. While this isn't a big deal to me personally, I recognize that there are many people who for very good and honest reasons feel that such Biblical commands still apply to us today. As long as they follow these commands gracefully and apply their principle of interpretation consistently I won't argue with them.

But I probably will argue with them if they try to explain why this is still a good idea. I've heard all sorts of sweeping generalizations about the genders that attempt to explain why women ought not to "teach or have authority over" men. As far as I'm concerned, none of them hold water. (See the parody linked at the start of this post.) But as long as they can admit that their practices are based on their submission to the authority of scripture and not some empirically discernible and eternally applicable principle ("the very nature of things"), I certainly understand and respect their position.

My final caveat would be that if you're going to take Biblical authority seriously and you want to make judgments about what is and isn't cultural, it seems to me you ought to make an effort to understand the culture these commands originated in. And whether you're a traditionalist or not, if you want to tell other people that what they're doing is wrong because the Biblical laws regarding homosexuality or head-coverings or what have you very definitely are/aren't cultural and therefore don't/do still apply, you'd better be absolutely certain you know what you're talking about.

Case in point: a Messianic Rabbi explains his historical understanding of the passage that requires women to wear head-coverings here. I'm certainly no expert on first century Jewish culture, so I have no idea whether he's right. (And frankly, it's not a big issue for me.) But it annoys me that of all the Christians I've talked to who feel strongly that head-coverings are not cultural and must still be worn, none of them seemed to have any knowledge of the purpose and practice of head-coverings at the time of Paul's writing.

But perhaps I've just talked to the wrong traditionalists, or asked the wrong questions. I would be grateful if someone who disagrees with the Rabbi's understanding of head-coverings in the first century could present a historically informed argument for the timelessness of this command.

Amazing Grace

2006-03-27T13:28:00.000-07:00

There was once a young man who demanded his inheritance from his father and then moved to a distant land and squandered it on parties and prostitutes. He became so poor that he could no longer feed himself, and the only job he could find was feeding pigs, for which he was payed so little that even the pig slop looked good to him.

He soon realized what a fool he'd been and remembered his father, who was a kind man and generous to his workers. He wondered if he should return home. Of course he would not ask his father to accept him as his son, but perhaps he would have mercy on him and hire him to work in his fields. But whenever he thought of his father he was filled with shame and fear, and could not bring himself to go home.

Then one day as he was sitting in the mud with the pigs he saw his father approaching. Fear and guilt gripped him, and he could not meet his father's eye. But his father bent down in the mud and touched him.

"My son, why have you not come home?"

The son looked up, sorrowfully. "I was afraid. I was ashamed. I didn't think you'd want to see me again."

"You were wrong. Every day I've stood at my window and waited for you to come home. Even though you despised me, shamed me, turned your back on me, I have always been your father, and I have always loved you and longed to forgive you. If you had come home I would have run out to meet you. I would have given you a new robe and a ring, and I would have embraced you and kissed you and celebrated your coming with a feast. We would have rejoiced together as if you were dead and had come back to life!"

The son looked at his father in wonder. "You would do that for me? Even now you would forgive me for all I've done?"

The father shook his head. "No, I said I would have forgiven you, but I will not forgive you now. Since your birth, and despite all your faults and failures I have loved you, but my love has ended. All these years you could have returned to me - even yesterday I would have embraced you as a son - but not today. I've come to tell you that on this day I disown you and I withdraw my forgiveness and my love. I am no longer your father; you are no longer my son. Do what you will - beg, starve, die in the streets. I care less for you than for these pigs, even less than for the slop you feed them or the mud you're sitting in. Whatever remorse you may now feel, however much you may long for my forgiveness, until the day you die you will never again speak with me or enter my presence."

And the father turned his back on the one who was once his son, and left him in the mud with the pigs.

I have a great difficulty believing that God's forgiveness expires when we die. If it's true that God's love and compassion and mercy are vastly greater than (or even comparable to) those of any human, it's inconceivable to me that he would eternally banish those who die before repenting.

"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed."

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."

Good Things I've Read Recently

2006-03-24T11:29:00.000-07:00

This is an interesting perspective on fasting and Lent. For the record, I believe there's value in giving things up and I think it's good that people in my very un-Catholic circle aren't afraid to adopt this tradition. But I like that even in Old Testament Judaism these rituals are secondary.

This is what I think about knowledge of God from personal/religious experience. Thanks to Bruce for articulating it.

Real Live Preacher questions the validity of the "slippery slope" argument here.

New Features

2006-03-20T23:30:00.000-07:00

"Jacob, you're blog is great. It's so thought-provoking, so well written and relevant. I'd love to read it all the time but I just don't get around to checking too frequently, and you're not the most consistent poster. Can you make it easier for me to read?"

Heck yes I can. The keen-eyed among you may have noticed that the "Archives" box in my sidebar has been renamed "Archives, Etc.". This in itself something to get excited about, but the changes don't stop there! Inside said box I've added a google searcher-thing, an email subscription feature, and a drop-down menu for my monthly archives, along with a pretty bloglines button. All to make life easier for my beloved readers. Let me explain why these things are good.

If you're a devout reader of many blogs, bloglines is still the only way to go. If you want to keep tabs on dozens of blogs (some of which are updated daily, others semi-annually) without regularly checking each one, bloglines will do this for you. It'll tell you who has new posts and let you read them all in one place. It's beautiful.

If you only read this blog and you'd like to read consistently but you don't want to/forget to check frequently for new posts, Feedblitz is your friend. Provide your email address and get Twenty Feet delivered hot and fresh to your inbox whenever I get around to writing something.

If you want to read about specific subjects or find an old post you really liked (I'm probably just talking to myself now) you can google search this blog from the sidebar too. Results are a bit sketchy, I think mostly because I recently switched domain names. But I'm working on that.

If for some reason you want to browse through my monthly archives, you can still do so through the nifty little drop down menu. It's just that they no longer take up half the sidebar.

If you're envious of my new toys and want to add them to your own blog, let me know and I'll tell you how. Or if you're at all good with code you could just check out freshblog, where you can find all these hacks and more!

And if you don't care about any of this, I hope to publish something more meaningful within a couple days.

It's been a while

2006-03-15T23:25:00.000-07:00

Hey.

How ya been?

I was just thinking of you the other day. I thought maybe it's time I talked to you again.

It's strange to think of you being present here, as if I might catch a glimpse of you if I turn my head fast enough. It gives me the sense that you're playing with me, the way a father plays with a small child - outsmarting him, teasing him, nimbly avoiding his uncoordinated efforts to find or grasp. I wonder why kids like that. I suppose the difference is that they know it's just a game. It ends so quickly, and then they touch again. Maybe we'll touch some day.

Be with the ones I love - you know their names. Give them strength in hard times. Give them direction and hope. Teach them to love, and teach me to love them. Let me be a blessing to them, if I can.

Keep me honest. Keep me humble. Keep me gentle. Help me see the garbage in my heart, and help me deal with it.

Don't ever let me forget you, even when I don't believe in you. Let me remember where I've come from, wherever I end up.

Are you listening? I believe you are, somehow. But I don't really know you, so I may be mistaken. If you've been tuning me out, listen to me now. I have something I need to say to you:

Don't you ever let me go.

Greater Things Than These

2006-03-07T23:12:00.000-07:00

Something that was said in the communion service at my church last week got me thinking. Someone mentioned the passage in Matthew 25 in which Jesus separates the "sheep" from the "goats". Whenever I hear this passage, I think of a similar one in Matthew 7 which seems to say the opposite.

The first passage says that whether we go to heaven or hell depends on how we treated "the least of these". (Absolute heresy, I know. I can't believe we read this in church.) The second seems to say that doing great thing on earth isn't enough to get us to heaven. What matters is whether we are known by Jesus, which is somehow related to doing the will of God, whatever that means. (How could doing miracles and driving out demons not be the will of God?)

After I puzzled about this for a while, it reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13. (Most things do, it seems.) The Love Chapter, as it's called, begins by saying that all the big flashy stuff that we admire - speaking in tongues, prophesy, knowledge and understanding, great faith, miraculous power, sacrificial giving and martyrdom - are utterly worthless without love.

I know this passage well and I love it, and I'm also quite familiar with the "Lord, Lord" passage, but their message is still shocking and counter-intuitive to me. If you could perform miracles, foretell the future or cast out demons in Jesus' name, I'd think highly of you. I'd want you to be my pastor. I'd support your ministry, read your books, quote you and imitate you and praise you to my friends. If you could do this stuff I'd be your disciple and hang on your every word, because you'd have to be incredibly close to God to wield power like that. Right?

Not according to Matthew. In his book Jesus is disgusted with many of whom I would be in awe. These are prophets, miracle-workers and exorcists, and Jesus called them evil-doers and opposers of God's will. But those known to Jesus, his sheep, are workers too - servants of the hungry, the thirsty and the sick, of strangers, beggars and crooks. Why is one group accepted and the other damned?

Both the sheep of Chapter 25 and the evildoers of Chapter 7 were apparently judged according to what they did. Both did things we would approve and admire, and yet one group is welcomed and the other banished. The only way I can make sense of this is that the hell-bound of Chapter 7 got caught up in the flashy stuff and missed the real point. I have no idea how these evildoers had such privileged access to God's power, but it seems that they completely misused it.

Obviously there's nothing wrong with doing the miraculous, after all, Jesus did many miracles during his ministry. But it seems that he thought the compassionate part of his ministry - talking with Samaritans, touching lepers, eating with prostitutes and crooks - was the more important part. Jesus knew that displays of supernatural power stick in our minds ("Jesus - wasn't he the guy who walked on water and raised that dead girl and fed thousands with a handful of bread and fish?") but maybe he thought his displays of extraordinary compassion were the highlights of his ministry.

I've always been pretty skeptical about Jesus' claim that his followers would do "even greater things than these". Sure, the apostles did some cool stuff - healing cripples and whatnot - but that all petered out pretty quickly. I don't know of a single Christian in the last 19 centuries who could hold a candle to Jesus in terms of signs and wonders. But now I wonder if Jesus might have counted feeding millions of hungry kids around the world as greater than feeding five thousand, even though we don't use his miraculous methods. Maybe Jesus' plan to change the world doesn't involve superheroes of faith who move mountains and put the legions of darkness to flight, just a bunch of unremarkable people who do what they can to help the needy.

And maybe it's not the great speakers and healers and the leaders of successful ministries that we should look to for spiritual insight. Maybe it's the ones who are serving soup to bums and hanging out in nursing homes who best understand the heart of God.

20 is the new 13

2006-02-27T18:46:00.000-07:00

And here we are. Finally.

I've been wanting to move for a long time, but I had to design a new template (pretty time consuming when you're picky and cheap) and find a good domain name. If you've never created a blog at blogspot, you have no idea how difficult it is to find a good name. If you're horrifically bored some time, try to think up blog names (or e-mail addresses) that someone else hasn't already claimed. This is how it goes: you think of a great name, you type it in, and you get an "address not available" message. Apparently some kindred spirit out there though of the exact same name before you. (Great minds think alike, right?) You type the name in your browser and it turns out that you're kindred spirits with some dork-face who started a blog 2 years ago, posted twice, and was never heard from again. Meanwhile he's hogging YOUR name.

So why did I go with "twentyfeet"? Basically, it was down to that or "thebelligerentplatypusdancesdelicately", which would be kind of annoying to type out. Every other name was taken. The allusion is to a story I wrote a while back, but the name is ambiguous enough that I shouldn't need to change it again in 2 years. I hope.

I'm both pleased with this new template and embarrassed by how much time I put into it. (I console myself that it will all be worth it when I win a bloggie for best design.) So what did you do with your reading week?

Is It True Today?

2006-02-24T16:46:00.000-07:00

I'm not trying to find reasons to abandon my faith. Really, I'm not. I just can't help thinking about this stuff.

I try to be credulous about religious claims. Because they generally deal with the unseen, personal experience, and things beyond our knowledge, I don't want to poo-poo other's beliefs about God. I've never felt the presence or guidance of God, but others believe they have. And since I'm in no position to analyze these subjective experiences, it's not hard for me to believe that God does interact in tangible ways with some people, in some circumstances. When I hear about miraculous healing, exorcisms, prophecies, and so on, I tend to give them the benefit of the doubt. And when people tell me God answered their prayer, I recognize that I could never conclusively determine whether this is the case, and choose to trust that such things really happen.

But I find my faith in these things becomes much more difficult when I encounter them first hand. While I still believe (in the absence of any compelling evidence) that God genuinely and tangibly communicates and interacts with people, too often I hear of supposed encounters with God that I cannot help but mistrust. (Again, I'm not saying that any of these encounters are definitely fake. I'm just saying the majority of them seem pretty suspicious.) Similarly, while they sound great second hand, any exorcisms or healing or miracles that I've personally witnessed have been profoundly unconvincing, and done much to damage my faith in those I have not seen. I have no desire to disbelieve in the supernatural - just the opposite - but when I see them first hand or really sit down and think about them, I can't help but be incredulous.

I've struggled for a long time with prayer - its effectiveness, its purpose, its value. I wish to say plainly from the outset that I do not understand prayer, that any ideas I might have about it's mechanics or objectives may be dead wrong, that I have never been able to establish a habit of prayer or a desire to pray, and that I have never been in a position which merited heartfelt prayer for God's intervention (except maybe that one time). So don't tell me that I'm confused or ignorant about prayer; I already know that. I'm seeking knowledge here, not dispensing it.

As I've said above, I've always considered the question of whether God answers prayer not to be provable one way or the other. There are just too many unknowns, too many alternative explanations for both "answered" and "unanswered" prayers. It's easy to dismiss a seemingly unanswered prayer by saying that it was not God's will, that unconfessed sin got in the way, that the one who prayed was insincere, impure in motives or lacking in faith, that we fail to understand the "big picture" of God's plan, that sin and free will restrict God's action, that prayers may be answered in ways we do not expect or long after we've forgotten them, that we do not pray enough, or do not ask enough, or do not work enough, or any number of other explanations good or bad, likely or unlikely. A person such as myself who wants to believe in a God who cares for us, listens to us, and is active in our world will have no difficulty finding explanations and excuses for seemingly unanswered prayers. And never having lost a young child to cancer, never having known unalleviated hunger or sickness, never having struggled with crippling sin or physical disability or large-scale rejection or extreme hatred or cruelty or injustice, I've had relatively little to be disappointed with in prayer. I felt the sting of God's apparent apathy a couple years ago when I asked in vain for him to reveal himself to me, but the nagging questions then were how could God do this and what was I doing wrong, rather than whether God really answers prayer at all. This latter question occurred to me only a few days ago.

In the spirit of full disclosure, the question was prompted by something I read on a web site, and (in my opinion) not a particularly good website. whydoesgodhateamputees.com is a longwinded, multifaceted attack on Christian beliefs. The bulk of the arguments I skimmed through didn't strike me as particularly fair or compelling, but the argument against prayer alluded to in the title caught my attention.

It's not hard to find stories of "miraculous" (that is, improbable) answers to prayer. You've heard them in church, read them in the paper, and deleted them from your inbox. But have you ever heard of someone regaining a lost limb as a result of prayer? Assuming you haven't, do you not find this a little weird? There are countless stories of prayer healing diseases, but none (none!) of prayer regenerating severed limbs. (Or are there? I'd be grateful if you could find me one.) Why does God seem to heal all varieties of illness and infirmity, but never amputation?

I think there are two differences between the regrowth of a lost limb and other healing: it's impossible, and it's indisputable. Diseases, even the most deadly, are not invincible. All (or nearly all) can be overcome, and human bodies have been known to make inexplicable and highly improbable recoveries. But there is no natural possibility of healing for an amputee. Human limbs do not spontaneously regenerate, ever. And while sickness is enigmatic and prone to misdiagnosis and misunderstanding, amputation is black and white. If a woman has one arm today and two arms tomorrow, there can be no question that something inexplicable has occurred. No unknowns, no complicating factors, no uncertainty. And while naturally improbable recoveries from illness occur rarely, naturally impossible healing of amputees occur never. This bothers me.

Real Live Preacher tells of how his faith reached the breaking point as a hospital chaplain in his story (highly recommended). One factor was his realization that sick people tend to live when the doctors say they will live and die when the doctors say they will die, regardless of prayer however fervent, trusting, and persistent. Various sources confirm this. And now that I've really let this sink in, it bothers me.

I'm not saying all this proves anything. (As I said at the start, I don't think it's possible to prove anything about prayer.) But it bothers me. Maybe I've just not had enough good experiences with prayer. I'm sure that stories I chalk up to chance would be much more difficult to shrug off if I had experienced them personally. Maybe I just need to have more realistic (I'm tempted to say "less Biblical") expectations of prayer.

I suppose I should make a distinction between believing in God and believing that he answers prayer. At present I believe there is a God who "works all things together for good" according to his mysterious and perfect will. What I don't understand is why I ought to pray for God to change his will, or how my prayers could be necessary for God to accomplish his will, or why God seems to take great pains to make answers to prayer look like coincidences. This certainly isn't the way prayers were answered in the Bible.

But as usual I'm talking to long. What do you think? What do you believe about prayer?

Why I (Am) Like Conservatives

2006-02-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my infrequent posting of late. You know how it is - midterms, Olympics, laziness... My primary excuse is that I've been busy setting up my new printwear business. By which I mean fooling around with photoshop. Anyway, you can see the fruits of my labours (and those of my associate, Moses) at wererevolting.com. If you're looking to buy awesome stuff, we can hook you up. But to blogging.

The other day I had the opportunity to hear a good preacher at a College & Career conference. I've heard the man before, and I have a fair bit of respect for him. He's pretty old, quite interesting, and as conservative as all get out. We don't see eye to eye ("What are you doing these days?" "I'm studying philosophy." "Oh no.") but he's a straight shooter, and I like that. The thing about him is he's really into the Bible - he preaches as if every word in that book was hand-picked and assembled by God himself, and oozes meaning. The Bible is God's message to him, and what it says, he believes.

In one of the sessions he led (of which there were many) he mentioned that Christians ought to be more active in fighting the moral decay of our society. Being the left-leaning, tolerant, wanna-be-feminist, philosophistic college-boy that I am, I'm not convinced that our society's morals are declining, and I asked him afterwards to explain what he meant. This lead to a discussion of the "homosexual war" which he feels Christians have "lost much to easily".

The Preacher, through his study of scripture, has come to believe that homosexuality is an abomination in the sight of God, and that nations which condone it are doomed to God's wrath, as were Sodom and Gomorrah. He believes that homosexual attraction is a punishment for great personal sins, that the "homosexual lifestyle" (i.e. promiscuity) is nearly universal among people with this perversion, and that it signifies an abandonment to wickedness so drastic that most people who fall into it (and most nations that permits it) are beyond repentance and will soon suffer God's wrath.

I must interject at this point and say that while I personally believe that homosexuality (not to be confused with promiscuity) is not sinful, I have no quarrel with those who disagree. I understand why many Christians believe homosexuality is wrong, based on its apparent condemnation in the Bible, and so long as they treat gays with as much respect and love as they would any other "sinners", I can respect their beliefs.

But to say that homosexuality is the worst of all sins, a nation-dooming abomination, the manifestation of the most extreme wickedness and unrepentance, is something else entirely. In my head I have a pretty good tirade for people who think this way, the main point being that you'd better really get to know the person you're condemning before you tell him he's the pinnacle of depravity.

Of course, this cuts both ways. I think I could give a good "Woe to you, Pharisees"-style speech, but you don't talk that way to a grey-haired men of God whom you've come to respect. I made my views known to him in a more humble tone, and as it turns out, the preacher does know a few homosexuals, and their lifestyles do little to cast doubt on his beliefs. I didn't have much to say in reply, except that the homosexuals I've encountered have generally been gentle, moral, and respectful of family values.

As the conversation progressed he mentioned another group of which he holds a rather dim view: philosophers. He readily admits to knowing very little about philosophy itself, but he's not been impressed with the philosophers he's met. Each seemed to him to be trying hard to cover over their (presumed) conviction of the existence of God and the truth of the Bible with empty arguments and academic pride.

These and numerous other human interactions have confirmed his conviction that God's moral law and the truth of Scripture is evident to everyone (Romans 1 kind of stuff), and that anyone who lives sinfully or rejects Christianity does so out of wicked motives. I was surprised to hear this. I told him I know a good number of non-Christians whom I believe to be living the best they can and honestly seeking truth. People who reject Christianity or Christian morals, from my perspective, tend to do so for good reasons, not out of a desire to ignore the laws of God. He listened respectfully as I explained my experiences, seeming neither troubled nor dismissive. When I was done he simply said his experiences had been the exact opposite. And he told me a story about his sister, who once took a philosophy class. Her professor spent the whole term explaining why belief in God was unreasonable. Apparently unconvinced, she wrote her term paper or the topic "Why I believe in God". The professor gave her an A, and wrote that if he'd had the experiences she'd had, he would probably believe in God too.

It bothers me that our beliefs are so strongly influenced by our experiences. I feel like there ought to be a universally evident truth - the law of God written on our hearts, or in some unassailable, God-authored book to tell us what to do - but based on my experiences, I can't see how this could be the case.

The irony is that if I really believe the filter of subjective, personal experiences so strongly prescribes our beliefs, I cannot be upset with those who believe the opposite: that God's truth is known to everyone, but heeded by few. I can try to facilitate an experience (probably a conversation) that might cause those who disagree to re-evaluate their beliefs, but I cannot look down on them for their narrow-mindedness. Narrow-mindedness is likely a product of narrow experiences (just as my open-mindedness is a product of my relatively broad experiences) and I can't fault someone for having met only wicked homosexuals, dishonest philosophers, or Christians who have a personal relationship with God. Of course, it's quite possible that someone has had experiences that ought to have prompted them to re-evaluate their beliefs, but generally I'm not qualified to say if this is the case. Just as true tolerance must tolerate intolerance, I cannot judge those who have had different experiences than my own, even if those experiences are narrow and monolithic.

I fear I may sound a bit snooty saying all of this, which is certainly not my intention. I recognize that I may be dead wrong in my broad-minded beliefs - perhaps later experiences will shed a new light on my current ones, perhaps I am subconsciously being horrifically dishonest about my experiences and motives, or perhaps I am predestined to wrong belief by a wrathful God. I do not imagine that my own experiences are any more an indicator of God's truth that anyone else's. I simply do what I believe we all do: I believe what I cannot help but believe, given my experiences.

The Conclusion of the Matter

2006-01-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a while because I don't really know what to say. I've tried to get into my thinking zone and work this through to its logical conclusion, but my mind seems unwilling to do so. I can understand why: the conclusions that seem most fitting to me also feel repulsive and not at all in sync with my intuitions, feelings or disposition.

These are my thoughts: Although there are many compelling arguments that can account for a variety of different forms of suffering, in my opinion there are examples of suffering (the most clear-cut, I think, is natural animal suffering) for which no satisfactory explanation can be given. Whether God's allowance of any given type of suffering (everyday discomfort, human cruelty and selfishness, natural disasters, horrific diseases, animal suffering, etc.) seems justified to you is probably the result of various personal factors. Some people find certain examples of suffering more troubling than others, and I don't think we can come to a consensus about what does or doesn't instinctively feel wrong. But I believe most of us can agree, if we examine the issue carefully enough, that some suffering seems gratuitous, and thus if we cannot agree about precisely how troubling the existence of pain is, at the least I hope we can appreciate that for some people, it is a very great problem indeed.

For myself the problem is significant. At this point in my life I cannot allay my feeling that there is something horribly wrong with this world. I believe - or have believed - in an unfathomably (if not infinitely) good, powerful, and wise God, and also in gratuitous suffering. I see very clearly that these beliefs are inconsistent. Four possible solutions occur to me.

1. I could deny God's goodness. From a purely logical standpoint, this seems to be the simplest and most obvious solution. The world is full of suffering, thus God (if there is a God) must wish it to be so. I could say with Paul that God has the right to create conscious beings whose sole purpose is to be objects of his wrath. (Of course, Paul wouldn't say that God is evil, but rather that what seems to me to be the greatest of evils would be just and good if perpetrated by God.) But I think if I could make myself really believe this about God, I would just as soon kill myself and be apart from him for eternity. Above all else, I cannot and will not believe that God is not good.

2. I could deny God's power. Perhaps the God who fashioned the universe out of nothing is somehow incapable of making it better than it is, or of fixing it when it goes wrong. Perhaps genocides and tsunamis and plagues occur because some cosmic law, some "deep magic from the dawn of time", renders God powerless to prevent them. Perhaps this world is simply the best he could do. But for a boy who was raised on the hope of heaven, on the assurance of a final victory over evil and death and an eternity of fellowship with God, such sever limiting of God's power casts a shadow on all hope. I am not opposed to God having some limits on his power, for example those that require a personal sacrifice to achieve reconciliation or hardships to develop character. However, a God who is incapable of preventing vast and unnecessary anguish is not a God I could find much comfort in trusting. I will not believe in a weak God.

3. I could deny God's knowledge. It occurs to me that the savagery of nature, the fallenness of man, and even the creation of the devil (if you believe in such a being) can be neatly explained by supposing that God does not know the future. If God could not perfectly predict the results of his actions, if he's just doing the best he can, it makes perfect sense that things would go wrong. The problem with this belief (similarly to the one above) is that the fate of every creature in the universe is in the hands of a being who wields unthinkable power, but doesn't really know what he's doing. And considering his track record to this point, I would not be at all confident that he could pull us through. If you can really understand and believe that God has no knowledge of the future and continue with your life, you're much braver than I am. For the sake of my sanity, I can't believe in an ignorant God.

4. The final option I see is to deny the existence of gratuitous (purposeless) suffering. This is the most popular option, I think, for theists. Certainly it is the most appealing. That all pain has a purpose is a wonderful thing to believe, if you can. Moreover, I think it's a respectable position. We as humans can't be expected to understand everything that goes on in the mind of God. As impossible as it seems that a world so fraught with pain and evil could be created and sustained by a wholly loving, wise and powerful God, it would nonetheless be arrogant and foolish for us to say that this cannot be the case. A theist, generally, is someone who is able to trust - for whatever reason, and however foolish it may look on paper - that God has good cause to allow even the most monstrous earthly suffering. I do not begrudge them this ability, but neither do I posses it. My mind balks at the idea that even the suffering which seems most gratuitous is in fact not so; that all things - all - work together for good. While I readily admit the possibility that this is the case, I cannot bring myself to believe in it.

So where does that leave me? I suppose there is a fifth option, and that is atheism. I suspect most atheists are made in this way. The problem of pain seems so deep and so dark that it makes most sense to them to get rid of the whole thing. Given my beliefs (or disbeliefs) as listed above, I think this is a very reasonable option. Why should I not take it? I've had no special experiences with God. He does not interact with me or with the world around me in any way I can perceive. I know of few - if any - compelling arguments for God's existence. Futhermore, I believe I could function as a reasonably confident, ethical, content human being without a belief in any higher being. What stops me from taking this natural step to disbelief in God? The same thing that overruled the previous four solutions: necessity.

In a perfect world (or in my idea of a perfect world) we would form beliefs based on what seemed to be the best available evidence. In our world, I think we often believe what we must. I don't mean "must" in the sense of "I must believe in God because otherwise I'd be hopeless and afraid" (though that's also quite common) but in the sense of "I must believe this because regardless of all evidence to the contrary, I can't seem to make myself disbelieve it." I suppose I could impose on my mind any one of the five solutions above. "See here, mind," I would say, "logic has been employed, conclusions have been drawn, and in the interests of honesty and consistency you must now believe the following", to which my mind would sullenly consent. But to do so would feel unnatural - even dishonest - for me, like forcing on myself left-handedness, or interest in baseball, or the belief that I have a personal relationship with Jesus.

Some may see the hand of God in this, protecting me from the great sin of unbelief. I suspect a far less spectacular explanation, namely that upbringing and convention have so entrenched the idea of a god (possessing very specific characteristics) in my mind that it cannot presently be plucked out even by an equally strong belief in the existence of gratuitous suffering. But whatever the reason, I feel that I have no alternative but to accept that I hold these contradictory beliefs. I doubt that it will always be so (my beliefs are ever in flux) but at present I cannot escape this inconsistency. Not that I see no possible solutions - any of the five I discussed above should suffice - but I see none that I find myself capable of genuinely believing.

This is rather embarrassing for me as a philosopher. I do not suffer from the illusion that the world is a simple place, or the expectation that I can make sense of anything if I put my mind to it, but I have always hoped that I could at least avoid glaring contradictions in my most foundational beliefs. In this I seem to have failed, for now.

The Bible on Pain

2005-12-24T01:50:00.000-07:00

This is the third installment in my series on the problem of pain. (It starts here and continues here.) In this post I will examine the Biblical story of the fall of man, which purports to explain how suffering became a part of the world God once called good.

The Bible tells us that God intended the world to be a sort of paradise. The description of this paradise is very helpful to a discussion of suffering and evil, because it serves as a vision of a perfect world - a world created by a loving and powerful God. If we accept this description as a part of the Biblical explanation for the existence of suffering, we need not further ponder or debate what a perfect world would look like, we need only determine whether the explanation of how this original paradise decayed into our present world is reasonable.

The Bible does not describe Eden in detail, but it does imply something about it that I find very interesting. As God goes through his creating process he repeatedly stops to remark that it's all very good. The last time he says this is after he has created everything, including plants, animals, and humans. But just before giving this final expression of approval, he tells man that all the plants on earth are his to eat. But they're not just his - they're for all the animals too. Presumably, God thought it would be best if animals weren't killed for food. I recently watched Jurassic Park, and I'm inclined to agree with him. Animals hunting and killing each other is a ghastly affair. The writer of Genesis, along with other Biblical authors, was clearly of the opinion that creating animals which eat each other alive would be inconsistent with the character of a loving God.

For the modern reader, who has at least heard of old earth, theistic evolution, etc., the obvious question is whether all animals really were herbivores before the fall. If animals hunted and killed other animals before humankind came into existence and sinned, I can't see how Adam's fall or subsequent human nature can possibly be blamed for all that suffering. (Of course there are other possible explanations, which I will discuss in subsequent posts.) But if you believe in a literal six-day creation, the Garden of Eden, universal vegetarianism and so forth, it still strikes me as exceedingly odd that God would create animals which are specifically and meticulously designed to be killing machines, since his intent was for them to remain herbivores forever. Isn't the incredibly adapted anatomy of living things the whole platform of creationism? If cheetahs and crocodiles and velociraptors sat around in the Garden and ate grass with cows and sheep, what does that say about their design?

I think the most obvious counterargument for young earthers is that predators were changed after the fall, in the same way that snakes and thorns and the pain of childbirth were changed. This is certainly possible. If there was no death before the fall (which presumably happened soon after the 7th day) there would be no fossil evidence of the pre-carnivorous versions of modern predators. But then the question arises of why man's downfall would have such a radical impact on the rest of nature - not only the physical alteration of innumerable species, but also (it would seem) the beginning of disease, natural disasters, and even death itself, throughout the whole world. Are all these great evils natural, cause-and-effect consequences of human sin? What happened when Adam and Eve bit into that fruit?

The forbidden fruit seemed to have an immediate effect on Adam and Eve - they realized they were naked, and felt ashamed. But what else happened at that moment? Apparently nothing worth recording. The kids weren't really in trouble until Dad got home. And what does God say when he finds his children have disobeyed him? Does he explain to them the natural consequences of their actions? Does he tell them how their disobedience has set in motion events that will destroy them and their world? Or does he curse them?

I don't know Hebrew, so I can't say this with any great authority, but I find the wording of the curses in Gen 3 very interesting. They read not as God listing the natural effects of sin, but as God listing his punishment for sin. God says "I will put", and "I will greatly increase", as if he were a judge handing down a sentence. He also banishes Adam and Eve from the garden. So it seems to me if we're going to take a Biblical view of the beginning of suffering, we ought not to say that suffering is a result of sin, but that suffering is God's punishment for sin. At least, some suffering is. I don't think instances of pain resulting from cruel or selfish human acts can be traced back to these divine curses (unless our sinful nature itself is a curse from God), but at the very least, toil and the pain of childbirth can be.

Which raises an interesting question about the exact relationship between the fall and suffering. Just how did the first sin make such a mess of the world that it even brought into existence diseases, natural disasters, and carnivores? I can't say this for certain, but such things (if indeed they can be associated with the fall) would seem to arise not as natural results of sin, but as the punishment of God on all of creation for human sins. God cursed the ground to make farming toilsome; it seems that he also cursed the water and the air to create tornados and tsunamis. God created thorns as punishment; it seems that he also created deadly viruses. God put enmity between humans and snakes; it seems that he also put enmity between wolves and lambs. Or am I wrong?

This is not to say that God is to blame for the fallen nature of the world, only that he seems to have caused it to fall as punishment for man's sin. I don't understand why he would do that, but it does seem consistent with other things God has done, such as commanding the Israelites to slaughter enemy tribes' livestock, in addition to all human members. Another example of this sort of blanket punishment would be sending a flood to destroy all life on earth. If God really wanted to wipe out every man, woman and child in the world (save for one family) because of their great sin, there are numerous ways this could have been done - plague, war, fire from heaven, or simply striking them all dead. But he chose to flood the earth, drowning not only every human, but every animal as well (again, except for 2-6 of every kind). Why?

There seems to be something inconsistent, to me, about the Biblical God's attitude towards animals. On one hand, scripture takes the position that a perfect world would not include violent death for any creatures. On the other hand, animals are routinely caught in the crossfire of God's punishment of humanity. I can't understand this.

I'm afraid I've stumbled back upon an old problem of mine: the Biblical portrayal of God's judgment, which is radically out of sync with my own intuitive understanding of justice. In the Bible nations are judged and destroyed as a whole, children are punished for their ancestor's sins, and (based on the above) animals are cursed for the disobedience of humans. Of course, in everyday life the consequences of misdeeds are commonly suffered by those who did not perpetrate them - children, families, nations, and animals. This is both a natural part of our world and a significant aspect of the problem of pain. Although we see it every day, we sense that something is wrong - very wrong - about innocents suffering as a result of other's sins. The Bible (at the least, this portion of the Bible) does not explain how God could allow undeserved suffering. On the contrary, it makes God a perpetrator of such suffering.

I want to be clear: I'm not trying to find fault with the Biblical God or tell him that he should to have acted differently. What I'm saying is that his actions, as I understand them, make no sense to me. I recognize that this is not a particularly persuasive argument against the existence of the Biblical God. Please understand, it's not intended to be. What I'm saying is that any explanation for the existence of suffering in God's creation that requires a literal interpretation of the Bible is extremely unsatisfactory to me. Unless my readers wish to change my mind, I will move on to other possible explanations for the existence of suffering.

Not Especially About Pain

2005-12-19T00:12:00.000-07:00

I recently came across this post in draft form. I wrote it almost exactly one year ago, and I don't know why I never published it. I like it, and I think it relates to some of my more recent thoughts. Some parts of what I've written here have changed in the past year (for example, I'm not nearly so bitter with God, and it turns out my hair does look good long) and other parts have stayed the same. I still think it's interesting, but then, I'm probably more interested in my own out-of-date thoughts than anyone else. My next post about pain is nearing completion, but in the mean time, this is me a year ago:

It's Christmas time, I'm off school, and come to think of it, today's my birthday. But none of this is particularly exciting right now. The world is cold and grey. I don't know what I believe, but I know it's not what I want to believe. I'm confused, and I know I'm not smart enough or diligent enough for this task. God seems not to be on side, and that doesn't help. I feel at peace about the process I've engaged myself in - the process of questioning and fighting through my faith. I know this is what I should be doing, but I also know that I cannot do it well. I know that I'm too emotional, too lazy, too tired and skeptical and too human to find God or truth. So the problem is not that what I'm doing is wrong, it's that I am doing it poorly, and I cannot do it better. I've been dwelling a lot on hell, and I don't know how much of what I've written on this will ever be published here, but it's fairly discouraging.

What I've read in the past 24 hours: part of an old book about why the KJV is the only Bible translation you should read, and parts of another book about why the Charismatic movement is bad and miracles ceased after the NT was written. Neither seemed particularly well thought through or honest.

Random stuff: I'm thinking about people I know, and their various viewpoints. I talked to a girl the other day who is no longer a Christian, and who says that rejecting Christianity was the most wonderful, uplifting experience of her life. I talked with my relatives about Christianity and the Bible, which they hold to be the inspired word of God. I talked to various people about hell, and how to reconcile the doctrine of hell with my beliefs about God's goodness. I talked to friends who are struggling with the church, friends who are walking away from the church, and friends who embody the church. I talked with a few people about how the direction I'm headed will cause me to be more and more detached from the church, simply because I will be less and less able to volunteer in Christian ministry. I was kissed twice this week: once by my grandma, who's in the hospital, and once by a mentally ill homeless man. It's 5:00 right now, and it's cold and dark out. I have a party to go to tonight. I generally hate parties, but I was at a good one the other day. People are dying in the world today. I'm feeling melancholic, and I'm not wearing socks. It looks like Hotel Rwanda may not be playing in Edmonton. Has anyone talked with God lately? How is he doing? I hear he might be in Africa. I don't think I really like him. He's done a lot of bad stuff in the past, and he doesn't seem to be sorry for it. He's pretty icy, hard to get close too. I think I may resent the fact that he's the center of my life. Everything I think about and do revolves around him, and he knows it. I wish I could go a day without thinking about God, just living, loving, doing stuff, and not bothering about prayer or ethics or the problems in Jude. I wish I could just be myself and sort of have my own ideas about God and religion that don't come to the surface unless someone asks me about them. And then I could think for a bit and explain some of how I feel about God and stuff, and we could chat about it or whatever, but it wouldn't be me, you know? It wouldn't be what I'm all about.

I think one of the big problems with me is that I'm afraid of hell. I guess most people are, but it's so stupid. Just do your best - that's all you can do. And maybe someday when you're dead God will say "sorry, you thought the wrong stuff, so damn you", or maybe he won't. He chose not to make this straight-forward. That was his choice, not mine. I can't get myself all bent out of shape about something I really have no control over. If I wasn't afraid of hell, I think I could do a lot of things with my mind.

One thing I really value in my friends is their differences. I have friends that are a lot like me, and others that are so different. I grow when I interact with them, because they stop my thoughts from becoming inbred and redundant. But I wish I had more diversity in my friends. I don't make friends easily, is the problem, but if I had my choice I'd have Mormon and Jewish and Muslim and Catholic and atheist friends, and gays and feminists and humanists. I'd have some friends that were really smart, but others that weren't. Some of my friends would be open and tolerant and great to talk to, but others would be closed-minded and a little irritating. Some of my friends would like to go to coffee shops, and I'd go with them and talk about global responsibility and philosophy and love. As long as I'm wishing, I'd also like the taste of coffee and Chinese food. My hair would look good long, and I'd be able to play the guitar. I'd probably have a girlfriend.

(That was a segway.) I found myself wishing I had a girlfriend the other day. Not in a "oh man, I need get a girlfriend soon" way, but in a kind of whimsical, "some day it would be cool" way. My girlfriend would be smart and honest, and I'd think she was very pretty, though she wouldn't believe me, because girls are weird like that. She'd be someone who I could be very, very real with. She'd know me better than anyone else; she'd be like the second me. She wouldn't know me perfectly, because that's impossible, but she'd know me about as well as I know me, and she'd have a different view of me, and I'd come to her to try to find out who I am. She'd play the piano, I guess. Or the guitar, but I'm already pretending I play the guitar. I don't care, it could be the other way around, or maybe one of us plays the violin or something. But it couldn't be a wind instrument, because you have to be able to sing while you play. I would lie on my bed reading poetry by candle light, and she would come over without calling first and practice her violin, playing sad songs and singing in French, and I'd pretend to keep reading, but I'd just listen to her voice and her violin making beautiful sounds I didn't understand, and she'd know I was listening more than reading because I'd start to cry. I just wish I had a #1, you know? A best, best friend, but more than that.

I think the god-shaped hole is a myth. I think we have a something-shaped hole, but no one really knows what the shape is exactly. I doubt anyone's ever done a good job of filling this hole with God. Not that God couldn't fill it, maybe, but he doesn't. He just sits up there and does whatever he does (probably holds the world together or something) and he's not that interested in filling your hole.

The Problem

2005-12-04T17:41:00.000-07:00

The problem of pain is a simple one. We know it intuitively. In straight-forward terms it is the question of how terrible suffering can exist if there is a loving God. The more philosophical-sounding way of stating it is this:

1. God is omniscient (knows everything)
2. God is omnipotent (can do anything)
3. God is omnibenevolent (is completely loving)
4. There is gratuitous suffering (suffering without any good reason)

All of the above cannot possibly be true. If people and animals suffer without any good reason, then either God does not know about it, or he is powerless to stop it, or he does not love us, or he does not exist. Those are the only options. (It is taken for granted that a being who loves another will not wish his/her beloved to endure gratuitous suffering.)

Clearly, this presents a huge problem for people who believe in God. No one can deny that there is a lot of suffering in the world. No one can deny that this suffering often appears to have no positive effect, or at least, to have far more negative effects than positive. So what do you do? If you're dead set on believing in God (or if you find the arguments for God's existence so convincing that they overwhelm any counterarguments) you basically have two options. You can say that all suffering, no matter how terrible and senseless it may appear, has a sufficient purpose, or you can say that God is not aware of this suffering, or can do nothing to prevent it, or simply doesn't care.

The first option is certainly more appealing, if you're fond of the omni-everything concept of God. Some have tried to explain how all pain has a purpose, or at least, how it is conceivable that all pain may have a purpose. Failing that, most theists will want to put some limit on God's omnipotence by explaining how God cannot break certain laws (for example, human free will) and is thus powerless to prevent suffering. Few will wish to say that God is not aware of our suffering, because this makes him very weak and uninvolved. A few might challenge God's omnibenevolence, saying that perhaps God is so repulsed by our sinfulness that he pours out his well-deserved wrath upon us in the form of suffering. And if all of this fails, there is always Atheism. Also, it should be noted that this problem can be solved by positing two or more Gods, one of whom is malevolent or sadistic.

One final response is worth mentioning. Many people (in fact, I think the majority) say they simply are not capable of finding the solution to this problem, but they cope better with suffering by believing in a loving God, and they will therefore choose to have faith that the existence of a loving God is not inconsistent with the immense suffering, though they cannot imagine how. This is certainly a respectable position. Indeed, if we conclude that we are unfit (because of lack of evidence or insufficient intelligence) to render a verdict on this matter, it may be the most responsible position. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This post is intended merely to introduce the problem and list the main types of responses to it. I intend to expand on and critique most or all of these responses in subsequent posts. I appreciate the reading suggestions my readers have offered, but I doubt I'll have time to read many of them. However, I believe that I'm familiar with most of the arguments presented in these books, though perhaps not in exactly the same form, and I fully intend to address each of them. I trust that my readers will alert me if they feel I have overlooked, misrepresented, or too quickly dismissed an important position.

Next Up

2005-11-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

I think the next major thing I'm going to think about is the problem of suffering. We discussed it briefly in my Philosophy of Religion class, and I realized that I don't understand why there is gratuitous suffering in the world, and I cannot at present reconcile this with my beliefs about the nature of God. Thus, it behooves me as a philosopher to confront this inconsistency in my beliefs and attempt to resolve it.

Here's my ever so tentative schedule of what to think about:
1. The problem of pain - what it is, why it's a problem. I think I've got a good start on this.
2. The Biblical explanation for the existence of pain - the fall, etc.
3. Other Christian-ish explanations for pain. (That is, explanations that are consistent with my understanding of God.)
4. Not-so-Christian-ish explanations, including atheistic ones, if necessary.

I intend to blog as I go, both because writing helps me gather my thoughts, and because I'm interested in your thoughts on this issue.

What God Is Not (A Theography)

2005-11-19T00:31:00.000-07:00

I love the idea of theography (writing about one's personal experience with God), as opposed to theology (making claims about the nature or character of God). I love the humility of theography, which seems to say, "I don't understand God, and I cannot create definitions or concepts that accurately portray who God is. All I can tell you is my own experience with God, which need not be in competition with yours." The theographer is less interested in catching and canonizing some truth about divinity than in receiving gifts of wonder and beauty, and sharing these gifts with others. I want to do theography.

My problem is that there is little or nothing in my life that I think of as experience with God. Regardless of it's cause, this absence of experience makes theography somewhat difficult to do. It seems to me that I can talk with far more certainty about what God has not done in my life than about what he has done. Hence, if I am to present a theography, it must be a negative one. (I mean negative in the sense of focused on what is not, rather than what is, not in the sense of pessimistic or overcritical, though I fear some of you will take it that way.)

Please note: I will use the words "God is not" to mean "I have personally experienced God not to be" or "I have personally come to understand God not to be". I recognize that this may make my statements sound dangerously authoritative (that is, theological), but I stress that I do not intend to convey anything beyond my own personal and highly subjective experience. Perhaps it would be better if I used one of the latter expressions, but they're just so damned unwieldy. Anyway, here we go.

God is not a vending machine. He is not an electronic salesman, hawking joy or blessing or Spirit-power like OhHenrys in school hallways. No proper ritual of prayer and desire and tithing and good deeds can produce my desired results in the manner of D-5 and one dollar. God cannot be predicted. God cannot be bought. God does not come with instructions, and he does not offer refunds. God is not a vending machine.

God is not a promise. I cannot "test him in this" - not for wealth, not for guidance, not for good gifts, or the Spirit, or the movement of mountains. God does not come with special offers or complimentary gifts. God is not a policy or a contract, and he cannot be brandished to ward of pain, nor presented to gain access to pleasure. God is not a promise.

God is not answers. He presents no special insight into science, politics, or ethics. He endorses no worldview. He reveals no plans. Seeking does not beget finding. Supplication does not beget response. Study does not beget infallibility. God is not answers.

God is not my friend. He does not offer companionship, he does not he share his life with mine. God is not touch, heat, or arms to hold me. God does not confides in me. God will not come to me when he's hurt or confused. He will not hang out with me, or write me e-mails, or buy me coffee. God is not nearness or oneness or a kindred spirit. God is not my friend.

God is not my father. He does not hold, guide, instruct or inspire. A father must be more than the cause of my existence. A father must be more than a benefactor, more than an authority. A father who has no time to spend with his child is not a father. A father who does not talk with his child, comfort him, listen to him, or laugh with him is not a father. God is not my father.

So there you go. Once again, that's my experience. It's not meant to contest with yours. It's also not meant to evoke any particular emotional response, nor is it meant to sound bitter or whiny or accusatory. If it comes across somewhat differently than it was intended to (and it does, at least to me) I suspect this is a result of the reader being conditioned to think of experience with God within very narrow parameters. I present this theography partially because I think it's beneficial for us to question such parameters.

I welcome you to respond with your own theography (or any comments you have about mine). You may use any style or format that you wish, and you need not address any of the points I've touched on. What's your experience with God?

Further Further Reading

2005-11-17T13:59:00.000-07:00

"Love is my Faith and my religion and wherever its caravans take me, that is where I shall follow, for love is my religion and faith."

This is what I'm all about. Thanks to Bruce.

And as long as I'm recklessly throwing out links to all and sundry, I'd like to draw your attention to and/or further ballyhoo the already much ballyhooed new blog written by my good friend Jonas (of left-an-interesting-comment-on-my-blog-recently fame). He is a self-described "towering talent", whose writing is rumored to be "charged with whimsy, humor, and (occasionally) pictures of babies dressed up as potted plants". Moreover, he promises "words that will fill the ache inside". While I am naturally skeptical of such lofty claims (cynic that I am), I know that if anyone can deliver on such a promise, it is he.

That ringing endorsement should be worth at least eight bucks.

Clarification

2005-11-12T00:03:00.000-07:00

This post is partially a response to this comment by Jonas. A number of comments I've received lately have made me realize that the impression some of my posts have made on some readers are quite different from what I intended.

I think there are a couple of writing habits I've fallen into that have apparently given some of my readers the wrong impression of my views. For one, I sometimes use "Christians" as a sort of shorthand for "some Christians, of whom I am one", giving the impression that I'm lumping all Christians together, and then distancing myself from them. I've received comments to the effect that I must know some pretty horrible Christians to be so frustrated and disillusioned with them. I don't think this is the case. When I criticize those Christians (who are by no means representative of all Christians) who scorn or mistreat "sinners", over-emphasize the Bible, are intellectually dishonest about the nature of their God, or engage in self-centered "worship" (to name a few recent tirades), I am criticizing what I personally once thought and did, or in some cases still do. I'm well aware of how easy it is to criticize those who are different, which is why I try not to write about Muslims, Atheists, Calvinists, Catholics, or baseball fans. I'm sure some people within these categories (who are not necessarily representative of everyone within their respective categories) are in error on various points and ought to be corrected. But I am none of these things, I know little or nothing about them, and thus I am in no place to critique them. I will only ever critique myself and those like me - that is, views that I have held, or things I have done. At least, this is the standard I try to hold myself to. In the future, I will try to be more clear that I don't disagree with all Christians (how absurd) on any certain issue, and I can relate to those Christians I believe to be in the wrong. I can understand their thinking (to a point) and I can sympathize with them because I once thought as they do, and, in many cases, still act as they do.

Jonas is right that I have more difficulty loving judgmental, holier-than-thou Christians than homosexuals. I won't pretend I don't struggle with this. However, being a recovering judgmental, holier-than-thou Christian myself, I have a reasonable understanding of their mindset and actions. Although I often become frustrated with certain segments of Christianity, I seldom feel malice towards any individual person.

However, what I feel is not the issue here. It is one of my weaknesses as a writer that I tend to forget or downplay the effect my words might have on the reader. What in my mind is a very calmly reasoned (yet forcefully presented) argument against a faceless ideology may be read as a personal attack against cherished beliefs, or a bitter rant against an enemy. Unfortunately, my passion as a writer occasionally exceeds my diligence as an editor, and I think I can come across as more angry and judgmental in writing than I would ever be in person. Like Paul, I tend to be timid when face to face, and bold when away. Of course, it's far easier to be gentle and understanding when face to face with a human being (however pharisaic) than when confuting a perceived distortion of the Gospel through a keyboard.

I certainly appreciate the comments I receive, particularly the ones asking for clarification or expressing disagreement. Such comments are half the reason I blog. (Half? Maybe 30%.) If you think something I've written is grade A bullshit (or even grades B through D bullshit) please let me know. And if you agree, you're allowed to tell me that too.

What Should Have Been Done

2005-10-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

A bunch of Christians should have looked around them a few decades (or centuries) ago and said "Hey, we see a group of people who are marginalized. They're afraid, they're misunderstood, they're feared and ostracized and discriminated against. It isn't right that they should be treated like this. We should help them." And then the Christians should have approached these other people and shown kindness to them. Not bullshit pretend-to-be-their-friend-so-they'll-listen-to-your-sales-pitch kindness, but the sort of kindness Jesus showed. The kind where the other person believes that you sincerely care about them, where you give of yourself freely and unconditionally. The kind where you stand up for them against adversity, and also sit down with them in fellowship. The kind where you spend a lot of time listening and not much time talking, where you don't pretend to understand the other person - their thoughts, feelings and motivations - until you've earned that understanding through long years of intimacy. The kind where you don't judge.

Some of these Christians - the ones who were politically motivated - should have organized rallies and wrote letters to raise awareness about the mistreatment of this other group. Some who were leaders should have organized charities and ministries to help those among them who were struggling emotionally or physically. Some should have organized support groups including both Christians and members of this other group, and many should have just hung out together.

Few Christians should have dwelled on whether what these people were doing was right, or whether membership in Christianity and this other group are mutually exclusive. None should have preached to them about their sin. None should have resisted the fight for their recognition and rights. None should have opened their mouths against these people as a group before first knowing and loving them as individuals. None should have shamed them, or excluded them, or seen their choices or their lifestyle before their humanity. This other group I'm talking about is homosexuals, but the same thing applies to any other group that faces bigotry.

I've gone from "being gay is wrong" to "being gay is not wrong" to "who cares whether it's wrong or not". Seriously, why does it matter? Why should a person's lifestyle and the question of it's sinfulness have any effect on the way we interact with them? If Christians want to concern themselves with society's acceptance of homosexuals, they should be fighting against discrimination and bigotry, not perpetrating it, regardless of their personal views (or even God views, if you're so confident that you know what they are) about it's rightness or wrongness. It's as if Christians feel that their first responsibility in relating to "sinners" is to make it clear to them and anyone else who might be watching that they disapprove of their "sin", and their second responsibility is to show God's love, so long as it doesn't interfere with the first. What nonsense! Love people first, and then if you really feel led to make them aware of their sin, you'll have the opportunity sooner or later. (And this way you'll actually know what you're talking about, and they might even be inclined to listen to you.) But remember that our responsibility in the world is not to convict people of their sins. That's the Spirit's job. We're here to show love - without restrictions, without conditions, and without concern for what the upright and the uptight will think.

A Gold-Foil Idol

2005-10-25T15:52:00.000-06:00

My Art History teacher recently mentioned that Christianity is a text-based religion, meaning that it's built around a book. I don't think I like the idea of text-based religion (or "spirituality", if "religion" is a dirty word to you). I think text is good (I'm a student, remember. I know the value of books.) but I don't want the focal point of my life to be a book. I want the focal point of my life to be servanthood, selflessness, and love.

After thinking about this a bit I decided many Christians would agree with me. I'm sure that many would say their religion may be text-based, but it's not text-focused or text-contained. They would say that they too pursue love as their highest goal and that they've found the Bible to be an indispensable guide in this pursuit. I certainly have no objection to that. What concerns me is that all too often text-based becomes text-focused, or doctrine-focused. The logic seems to be that if a book is our basis, then proper understanding of this book must be our goal. This is tragic, because it turns Jesus' revolution into just another brand of Phariseeism.

Jesus was all about people. He healed people, he fed people, he taught people. But more than that, he went to people's parties, he stayed up late talking to people, and he spent time with the people no one else in his society cared about. And I don't have to tell you that the one group Jesus didn't get along with was the doctrine-obsessed religious elite. It wasn't their vast knowledge of the scriptures that Jesus objected to, nor their zeal for righteousness - these things are of course good. But their lack of love, their obsession with their own legalistic purity, this Jesus found intolerable.

When Jesus was gone his followers wrote down the things he said and did. Of course they did - how else could this important knowledge be preserved for future generations? But I believe many Christians make the mistake of caring more for the text its self than for what it represents. How is it possible that those who know best the life and teachings of Jesus can become so preoccupied with headcoverings and translations and speculation about end times? How is it possible that such people are more interested in denouncing those they see as sinful than in loving them?

Look through the New Testament. (Do look, because I may be forgetting.) When Jesus met a "sinner", did he first confront him with his sin? Did he reason with him about the wrongness of his actions, or quote scripture at him, or urge him to turn from his wicked ways? Did he place more emphasis on the sins of the "especially bad" sinners than on those of the "pretty good" ones? Did Jesus ever start a conversation or a relationship by making it clear that he disagreed with the other's lifestyle? Jesus came to everyone on their level, he treated them with dignity, he listened to them, he helped them physically and practically, and he didn't condemn. And he certainly didn't give a shit what the religious people would think when they saw him hanging out with sinners and scum.

Jesus was not about the Bible or the church, he was about people. He didn't sit around pontificating about obscure points of doctrine with the ultra-religious, he brought hope and inclusion and practical wisdom to the oppressed and the godless. Jesus didn't hold his nose or hitch up his skirts as he walked through our world and he was more pissed off by self-righteousness than by wickedness. Jesus came to heal the sick; we've pulled him out of the hospital, scrubbed and groomed him, and made him the patron saint of the germophobes. Jesus was not afraid of sin-cooties or guilt by association. And he didn't place any book or doctrine or religion above the sheep he came to save. The minute our high-minded chapter-and-verse piety gets in the way of being the servants of all, we've abandoned the Gospel of Christ for a gold-foil idol.

(On a related note, I just read an interesting modern take on the Woman at the Well, over here. Thanks to Bruce.)

What I'm trying to say is this:

2005-10-17T16:41:00.000-06:00

But perhaps I should explain. I've been thinking recently about beauty. I think a lot of my life is a pursuit of beauty - beauty in my actions, beauty in my relationships, beauty in my writing, and so on. I'm using "beauty" rather broadly, I guess, but I feel like there's a strong relationship between visual beauty (and our reaction to it - wonder, I guess) and things like humility, love, wisdom, and joy. Maybe I mean that all good things are just different aspects or expressions of each other, like a single object that is perceived through multiple senses. But I told myself I wouldn't start talking like this.I've decided I don't like beauty being co-opted as a means to some other end. I feel like theists have degraded the beauty in our lives by turning it into some kind of argument for the existence of God. Not that there's anything wrong with feeling that beauty points you toward God, but by making an argument out of it, by subpoenaing beauty to be dispassionately analyzed and debated in defense of an intellectual proposition seems cold and demeaning. I think it would be better if we could each see beauty and let it influence our minds and hearts as it will, but not try to force those influences on others.I hope I'm learning to respect beauty. I remember that I used to have a fantasy about suddenly and inexplicably acquiring the ability to play the piano at the highest level. I have dreams of this nature about all kinds of talents (I suspect they're quite common) but this particular one was largely laid to rest when I got to know a girl who spends hours a day practicing the piano. After that it seemed wrong to want without cost what she has worked so hard for. Love without cost is not love; beauty without cost is not beauty.Someone is going to think too hard about what I'm saying, looking for a logical argument. But I'm not talking about logic here, I'm talking about beauty. Beauty, as I understand it, is of a different substance than logic - it can be felt and perhaps expressed, but not analyzed, not calculated.In high school I read a story in which a farm-girl is kidnapped by a lunatic who's obsessed with beauty. At one point, to distract him, the girl points to the setting sun and mentions that it's beautiful. The lunatic's earnest reply is "God Almighty beautiful - to take your breath away!" I've often reflected that if there's one thing I would be unwilling to give up for any reason - even for God - it's my mind. I treasure my ability to think more than anything else. But I wonder if I wouldn't mind being a madman or a fool if I could feel beauty like that.Sometimes I think knowing beauty is my greatest desire, and sharing beauty with others is my highest calling. At other times the idea makes me feel guilty - my rational mind scolds me for loosing my focus on logic and truth. But I'm increasingly suspicious that the pursuits of beauty and truth are not opposed, nor is one necessarily more valuable or honorable than the other. And maybe beauty and truth are really just the same transcendent object seen from different perspectives. You may call this object what you wish or you may leave it nameless, but understand that no words can accurately convey it's essence. Perhaps it can be best expressed like this:

The Paper Pope

2005-10-10T23:35:00.000-06:00

[FYI: This post's original title was "The Evangelical Pope". It was meant to be an immediate sequel to this post from June, but it somehow got forgotten and was only recently rediscovered and completed. I read A Generous Orthodoxy over the summer and it surprised me by addressing the exact same issue, though under a slightly catchier title, which I've decided to adopt.]

I've heard a lot of Protestant Evangelical-types bad-mouth Catholics for the whole Pope thing. I guess they don't like the idea of some guy in a big hat telling other Christians what's right and what's wrong. Christians, each of us being priests of God, each of us being indwelt by the Spirit, need no intermediary to inform us of God's will. We should each be able to pray and consult our Bibles and discern the truth for ourselves. (Never mind that we all disagree after doing so. Those who disagree with me must have unconfessed sin or something interfering with their Spirit-radar.)

About that Bible... Oh, first maybe I should say this again just to cover my ass: I like the Bible. It's a good book, and you should all read it. Of course I don't agree with everything it says (neither do you) but on the whole, it's a really useful - even "indispensable" - tool for learning about God.

That said, I wonder if we've made the Bible into something it's not. Picking up on the Pope thing, my guess is that the Catholics like all their church structure with the hierarchy and the traditions and the infallible Pope because it gives them security. Want to know where you stand on a tough issue? Look to the Pope. Want to know how to do Church? Just do what we've always done. And the really great thing about centralized power is that not only do you know what to believe, but you know what everyone else should believe. No need for infighting, no excuse for schisms, nothing but harmony and solidarity. Sure, it doesn't work perfectly, but it works a lot better than anything those fragmented, infighting, oh-so-aptly-named Protestants have come up with.

With the caveat that I've never actually talked to a Catholic about this particular issue, I imagine the following conversation between a Catholic and a Protestant:
The Catholic speaks first. "I know you're suspicious of my faith in the infallibility of the Pope, and you talk about the dangers of trusting in the judgment of one man on spiritual matters, but isn't it more dangerous to leave these matters up to comparatively ignorant and ungodly individuals? I would think you'd be lost without the leadership of one who speaks for God, just as the judge-less Israelites each did what was right in his own eyes. How can you hope to follow God without a God-ordained guide?"

"But we do have a guide," the Protestant would of course reply. "We have the Bible, our instruction manual for life, which is inspired by God, free from error, and contains everything God needs us to know in order to live as He desires. Furthermore, we each have the Holy Spirit, the Counselor, who tells us how to understand the Bible and apply it to our lives."

"Yes, that all sounds very nice, but surely you can see that it doesn't work. The Bible is a pretty confusing guidebook at the best of times. Look around you! Look at all the denominations you Bible-believers have split into. Each one is convinced that their own understanding of Biblical commands is correct and all the others are wrong. Don't you see that well-meaning Christians can no more agree on the meaning of the Bible than secular readers can agree on the meaning of other books?"

To a certain extent I'm quite happy for people to believe that the Bible is absolute truth and strive to understand and apply it. Generally they seem to miss the ugly stuff and come away with ideas centered more or less around love. Generally.

And yet there are always dangers of taking anything to be an unquestionable authority - regardless of whether it really is infallible - especially when that authority is an inanimate object that can't speak for it's self. First of all, we have a tendency to want to remake the Bible in our own image. (I'm not saying you do this. Heavens no! I mean people less in tune with the Spirit than you are.) It's easy to develop our own opinions and then go searching in the Bible for proof that we're right. Of course, this is usually done subconsciously, but I don't think I need to convince you that it is indeed done. (If I do, please let me know.) What's dangerous about this sort of selective reading is that once we find the verse that supports our (unconsciously) pre-formed conclusion, we believe that our opinion is unquestionable TRUTH. In my opinion, an unwavering, unassailable conviction that you're right may be the most dangerous thing in the world. It naturally precludes any further reflection or scrutiny (why bother with logic when you have the word of God?), and leads to patronizing, scorning or hating of those who disagree (imagine being so misguided/stupid/wicked as not to see THE TRUTH). It's also worth noting that these unpleasant side-effects can accompany unquestioning Bible-belief even if you manage to avoid interpreting the Bible through your own preconceptions. And of course, just because you come in with an open mind doesn't mean you'll leave with the correct interpretation. (Well, I guess many people believe that the Spirit won't allow you to be mistaken if you're sincere, but since this belief tends to be held dogmatically, I'm not sure it's worth my time to argue against it.)

I'm honestly not interested in convincing you that the Bible's not infallible. If you can't live without a "fixed point of reference", the Bible probably as good a choice as any. But please don't believe your interpretation of the Bible is infallible.