[+/-] Three Worship Songs I Hate

I figured it's time I ranted about Christian worship songs. Some of them I like, of course, but there are others that I loath. In the interest of brevity, I'll mention only the three that are most irksome to me at the moment. I've been trapped in a church service with each of these recently.

I can feel you flowing through me
Holy Spirit come and fill me up
Come and fill me up

Love and mercy fill my senses
I am thirsty for your presence Lord
Come and fill me up
Lord let your mercy wash away
All of my sin
Fill me completely with your love
Once again

I need you
I want you
I love your presence
I need you
I want you
I love your presence

The opening line is enough to condemn this song in my mind, but what really gets me is not the claims of physical sensations of God's presence, but how it flip-flops between "I feel God's presence" and "God please come" lines. How can you follow "I can feel you flowing through me" with "Come and fill me up"? To me, this amounts to admitting that the former sentiments were untrue (or at best, premature), which makes it sound like the whole song is an effort to simultaneously coax God into revealing himself and (in case God is uncooperative) brainwash yourself into believing that you can feel God's presence. At any rate, the whole focus of the song seems to be our desire to experience pleasurable sensations. This isn't worship, it's spiritual drug-abuse. And speaking of brainwashing:

Is it true today that when people pray
Cloudless skies will break
Kings and queens will shake
Yes it's true and I believe it
I'm living for you

Is it true today that when people pray
We'll see dead men rise
And the blind set free
Yes it's true and I believe it
I'm living for you

I'm gonna be a history maker in this land
I'm gonna be a speaker of truth to all mankind
I'm gonna stand, I'm gonna run
Into your arms, into your arms again
Into your arms, into your arms again

Well it's true today that when people stand
With the fire of God, and the truth in hand
We'll see miracles, we'll see angels sing
We'll see broken hearts making history
Yes it's true and I believe it
We're living for you

Is it actually true today that prayer can raise the dead? Is it? THEN WHY ARE WE SINGING ABOUT IT? Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this. I feel a little like the hyperbole police. It just bugs me that we willingly, passionately, joyously sing stuff that we would find ludicrous if not set to music. It's clear that this song is pure pep, and as such probably should not be taken too seriously, but I don't like seeing people getting comfortable saying whatever the church expects them to say without scrutiny. And finally:

All who are thirsty
All who are weak
Come to the fountain
Dip your heart in the stream of life
Let the pain and the sorrow
Be washed away
In the waves of his mercy
As deep cries out to deep
(we sing)

Come Lord Jesus come

Holy Spirit come

This song drives me crazy. Pain and sorrow cannot be simply "washed away". Not by choice, and not by request. This is the worst kind of lie that Christians tell because it belittles people's pain. It's so condescending, like saying "Just quit clinging to your heartache!" as if people feel pain by choice, as if they need to be coaxed into letting God heal them. "Hey, person in pain, have you considered praying about it? Have you considered asking God to give you life?" Has it occurred to you, song-singer, the damage that this kind of tripe can cause? I can only assume that you've personally experienced the kind of pain-washing you're singing about (and if this is the case, I'm glad for you) and you assume that what worked for you will work for everyone else. Open your eyes.

What really bothers me about worship songs is how you can get a whole church-load of people to sing without blinking something that they would never say to another person, or tolerate from the pulpit. Imagine how people would react if I stood up in church and said "Isn't it wonderful how we all have a physical sensation of God's presence?" or "Bob's Grandma passed away yesterday. Let's all pray that she'll be raised from the dead." or "God will take away all your pain and sorrow right now if you just ask him to." Why do you sing stuff you don't believe? Or do you disagree with my assessments of these songs?

(Slightly off topic, but too good not to link to.)

[+/-] Things I Thought this Week

This will be random.

I'm reading Soul Survivor by Phillip Yancy. It's good. He talks about some really interesting people, especially Gandhi, about whom I knew very little. Gandhi is my new hero.

It's good that I'm not counseling. In some ways I wish I was, just because pounding nails isn't very stretching, but I know that I couldn't do a lot of the things that would be expected of me as a counselor, not the least of which is singing certain songs. Some Christian music is really awesome, but some of it is disgusting.

I'm reminded that I have far greater control over my emotions than I like to think. Under most circumstances I can dismiss anger, jealousy or infatuation through conscious choice. This is very cool.

Sometimes I think I'm not much more heretical than most of my friends. Often I'll tell someone about my newest divergence from orthodoxy only to see them nod in agreement. I think the biggest difference between me and many of the people who are happily counseling and preaching at camps is that I'm up-front and vocal about my unorthodoxy, and most people just keep their mouths shut.

I have no idea what I'd say to a kid if one were to ask me a about a spiritual issue on which my view diverges from my church's. I don't think it's entirely healthy (or entirely possible) for a young kid to think the way I do. To be blunt and truthful about my beliefs with an 8 year old would be irresponsible. But I'd feel like a liar if I fed them some Church doctrine I completely disbelieve. I like the idea that we're not obligated to always tell "the truth" but rather to say what is beneficial to the hearer at that specific point in time. I suppose the problem is I have no idea what that might be. I guess I'll have to sort that out before I become I father.

The idea of relationship with God amuses me to no end. It used to drive me crazy, but now it mostly seems comical. Imagine having a relationship with a being whose very existence is a matter of debate! (I don't mean that to sound condescending to those who do have such a relationship. I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm just saying the whole thing strikes me as funny.)

Next week I'm doing maintenance again. I'm not particularly looking forward to it, but I'm certainly not dreading it either. It will be good.

And now I am tired. And now I am going to bed.

[+/-] Off to Camp

I'll be leaving for camp soon. I don't know how much I'll be home over the summer - for the most part just on weekends, if anything. It feels a little strange to be doing no counseling (basically I'll be on maintenance and dishes), a result of being deemed too unorthodox to talk to kids. The camp where I spent the majority of the last two summers doesn't even want me as a chore boy.

I'm not at all angry or resentful about this. It's not that I love counseling so much (in fact I usually find it quite challenging and discouraging) and it's not that I think I'm too good to wash dishes or pound nails, because I often enjoy that kind of work, but I can't shake this feeling that the church views me as some kind of spiritual invalid, with nothing to offer but my body. I don't mean that the Christians I know think of me that way. (Well, maybe they do - how could I know? But they're nice about it.) But I'm feeling more and more like the church has little use for me, or like I don't belong in the church.

At the risk of repeating myself, I have no complaints about my Christian friends, my church leadership, or the people at my camps. Believe me, if I had a problem with them I'd talk to them about it, not whine about them in my blog. My people are great people, but we're different. Our beliefs are different, our mindsets are different, our goals are different. It's not that they won't let me counsel, it's that I couldn't counsel. I couldn't do what would be expected of me. I couldn't say what they want me to say. We're just different.

My church has a communion service every Sunday morning in which anyone can stand up and talk about anything, so long as it's related somehow to Jesus and the whole atonement thing. Sometimes I love this service, because people can be real and share what they're thinking about stuff, but other times I don't understand what people are saying. I'm trying to articulate what kinds of things I don't get, and I think it's basically anything about Christianity having a practical impact on our lives. (Our lives, mind you. I have no problem with someone saying "Becoming a Christian changed my life in this or that way." But I have a hard time with "Isn't it wonderful how we [collectively, as Christians] are different in this or that way!") If there's one thing I've learned about Christianity, it's that it affects people differently.

I suppose the problem with Christianity is that you can only really be a Christian if your beliefs and experiences fall within certain parameters. I guess everything's like that, right? The difference is that Christianity thinks it's for everyone, or to put it another way, it thinks everyone's beliefs and experiences can be defined in it's own particular way. Depending on which Christian circles you move in, you may be able to get "in" to a certain point while still being a quite different, but you'll never totally fit.

It's like hanging around with a group of people who have all known each other for years. They may be great people, they may know how to have a good time, they may be deep and real, they may do a good job of including you and making you feel welcome, and yet they'll always have a deeper connection between each other that you don't have, and you'll always feel like a bit of an outsider with them.

I've gotten fairly good at fitting in. I don't try to hide my differences, but I try not to shove them in people's faces either. I'm used to checking up with whatever ministries I'm in to be sure they're aware of who I am and are ok with me doing what I do. I speak in communion service when I can and I try to keep my mouth shut when I deem my thoughts too radical. I do my best to encourage and help others in their Christian lives even when I can't relate to them. And it hurts me to express discontent with my little Christian world because I dearly love these people and I believe they love me too. My friends are good friends, and I always hate to see any of them go. I'm not sure what I'm saying here. Maybe I don't need to get out of the circles I'm in so much as I need to get into new ones. I want to connect with a broader range of people and find places to serve where my convictions and beliefs aren't a hindrance.

I don't know how I'll do this. I might go searching for a crazy-liberal church or a secular place to volunteer or something like that. Maybe I'll become really outgoing at school and make lots of philosopher friends. Or maybe I'll do nothing.

Anyhow, I think what I meant to say in this post is that I'll be going off to camp tomorrow. I'll be back now and then, mostly on weekends, but I don't know how much blogging and stuff I'll get in. Hopefully I'll be able to do weekly updates like I did last year.

A couple more things:

Now seems like a good time to plug bloglines.com. Sign up (It's easy! It's free!) and they'll notify you each time a blog you read has new content. This has the twofold benefit of saving you the need to check various blogs for new posts and boosting my ego when the subscribers number above my blog goes up.

In the middle of writing this post I came across an article on leavingfundamentalism.org which addresses precisely this topic. If you're interested, here she is.

[+/-] Moving Beyond the Bible

My Journal is now complete. The final two months of July and August are now up.

So in Buddhism there's this idea that not everything the Buddha taught was "true". Rather, he taught what was expedient, or useful and relevant to his audience. I really think they're on to something. Applying this to the Bible, it's easy to see why God didn't give the Israelites at Mt Sinai the same moral guidelines he gave through Jesus later on, or that he convicts various people of today. You can't just walk in to a culture and say, "Everything about the way you're thinking and acting is wrong. We need to tear this down and rebuild everything from scratch, and it's going to look like nothing you've ever seen." People just can't handle that. So it's baby steps: baby steps to treating women humanely, baby steps to seeing women as equals before God, baby steps to treating women as equals in society.

Most Christians are quite willing to admit that not all the laws given to ancient Israel are still applicable or sufficient. In fact, most of us would be appalled by the barbarism of a society like the one crafted by God himself (as some of us believe) all those years ago. And I'm not talking about the pagan, lawless society that Israel so quickly and repeatedly became - I mean a hypothetical Jewish society based entirely on the laws given to Moses. These laws simply wouldn't work in modern western society. They were beneficial for the time and place, but we've moved past that now.

I can see you all nodding in agreement. But now let me suggest that maybe we've also moved beyond the New Testament's teachings in some areas too. You don't like that? Why? It can't be that the laws given by Jesus are more authoritative - not if the Jewish laws were put in place by the Father. By all accounts, the transcendent God who created the Jewish laws is just as Holy and omniscient as the Son of Man who preaches in the Gospels. So why do we view the Father's laws as transient and the Son's as permanent? Because the Son was the final revelation of God? That makes sense. If there have only been two revelations of God (and his laws) to humanity, it makes sense that our religious and moral lives be defined and contained by the second. But what about that other person of God? You know... the Holy Spirit? (Can you see where I'm going with this?)

Ok, I admit I'm the first to downplay and discount the Holy Spirit and his supposed work in my life. I'm one of those who trusts my own experience and common sense over the Bible, and doing so in this case means that I have very little interest in the Spirit. But supposing I took every word of the Bible to be true, (though of course not your interpretation of every word) I think it still makes hella sense for the Bible not to be the be-all and end-all of Divine revelation. If the revelation of the Law from the Father is trumped by the later revelation of grace from the Son, shouldn't it follow that the present revelation from the Spirit through our consciences trumps the stuff in the Bible? Why should we feel bound to live entirely according to Biblical teachings, especially when the Bible gives little indication of being intended as a divine rule book? Why should we feel obligated to give chapter-and-verse support for every moral conviction we espouse? (Isn't this dishonest - pretending to be building all our morals on the foundation scripture when in reality we're forcing scripture to fit our inherent ethical convictions?) If you really believe that you are indwelt and empowered by God himself, why is your inner voice subservient to the written records of past revelations? Sure, there should be some kind of consistency, but we shouldn't be afraid to own up to the kind of divinely influenced yet culture-specific morality that was pioneered explicitly by God with the "New Covenant".

You want a precedent for the Spirit inspiring shifts in Christian moral thinking? How about the Epistles? Even within a generation of Jesus' death, even when Christians had access through the Apostles to all his teachings (not just the ones found in the canonical gospels), this revelation was insufficient to address all moral and spiritual questions. (No slight to Jesus, it's just that he didn't personally give orders for every possible scenario. How could he? Why would he?) The Apostles, guided by the spirit, took it upon themselves to both interpret the teachings of Christ and add to them, where necessary. They did this for their culture and their issues, so why should we hesitate to do it for ours?

I'm not suggesting that we throw out the Bible, any more than the early Church threw out the law of Moses. But let's see it for what it is: books written by men (guided by God) to address the issues of their day, just as we (guided by God) address ours. Let's see it as a reference point, as guidelines, but not as a holy rule-book that transcends all cultures and covers every issue, nor as the final word on any matter. I'm not suggesting we throw caution to the wind and chase after every hedonistic or idealistic whim, but lets stop seeing God as a stodgy old man who grumps about anything that's changed in the past 2000 years. I love the Bible. The Bible is good. But it shouldn't be the final word.

[+/-] My New Focus

I'm not that interested in God anymore. I remember when I used to think about him all the time. I haven't really done that in months. I no longer think of God as a person most of the time. Now he's kind of a concept. A hypothesis. I have no real interest in "relating to" God. There's nothing about the dynamic between God and myself that resembles a relationship. We don't talk. (Well, I talk sometimes, but we don't converse.) We don't really interact in any way. I've come to the point where I feel like I believe in God, but that it's not a belief that I attach a lot of significance to. (When I talk about whether God exists, I mean whether he exists as a being who influences our world and is involved in our lives. I have no interest in a transcendent "first cause" type being - only in a being that has some relevance to my world.) I am of the opinion that God exists, but I don't think it would affect my life in any huge way if I changed my mind.

I was thinking the other day about why I'm a Christian. I think it's probably mostly because the people around me are Christians. It is convenient for me to believe certain things because it allows me to relate more closely with those around me. I'm not saying I don't believe in Jesus and all that stuff - I do - but I believe out of conscious choice, and I choose to believe because it's expedient, and also to a certain extent out of inertia. (I've always been a Christian, there seems to be nothing better out there, so why change?) I'm also not saying that there are no good reasons to be a Christian, or that I suspect the whole thing is untrue. I'm just saying that I don't care so much whether it's true. Well, I suppose I still do care. But I don't expect to ever come to a firm conclusion, and it's no longer my greatest concern.

I guess what I'm thinking is that I don't want my life to be God-centric anymore. A God-centric life is dangerous because honestly (I mean HON-estly) there is no God with which we can interact. Or if there is, then it's next to impossible to distinguish this God from the things we mistake for him. I want to base my life on goodness. In some ways this is a fine distinction, because we assume that God is the embodiment or the source of goodness, and that goodness is like-ness to God. I'm not even sure how to describe this distinction to you. Maybe I'm putting God on the back-burner. Or maybe what I'm doing is taking my vague God-focus and refining it.

I don't know if I've ever said this explicitly, but I think I a lot of my life to date has been defined by the statement "I'm seeking God." There are two problems with this. The first, as I said above, is that God is such an enigma. How do I know if my beliefs/experiences/whatever are achieving my God-goal or not? The second is that "seeking God" is so broad. Does it mean seeking supernatural-feeling experiences? Honing spiritual disciplines? Striving for goodness? Building some kind of pseudo-relationship with an elusive deity? I suppose it means all of those things, usually. What I've decided is that this is all too broad - and more to the point, too difficult - for me. Not just too difficult, but too ambiguous. Too many things to juggle, too many ephemeral substances sliding through my fingers, too much uncertainty about whether I'm on the right path, whether I'm moving forward or back, or whether I'm simply stagnating. Why should I expend so much energy in a hopeless search for a God who gives no indication of wanting to be found by me (and little indication that he even exists)?

So I think what I'm saying is that I'm narrowing my focus. I'm going to concentrate on the stuff I can do. Not that I'm good at goodness, but at least I know what I'm seeking and how to seek it. And sure, goodness is still frightfully ambiguous. Sure, it's danged hard to pursue. But it's a lot clearer and easier than pursuing God, and I think that's as much as I can hope for.

One final clarification: this is not a recommendation. My goal in writing this (and my goal in most of my writing) is not to convince you to agree with me or be more like me. We're all different, and we're all on different paths. But I am interested in your thoughts.

(April is up. May is up.)

[+/-] Biblical Universalism

January through March are now up on my journal.

And here's an interesting story I read the other day:

When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, "Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

Then those "sheep" are going to say, "Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?" Then the King will say, "I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me--you did it to me."

Then he will turn to the "goats," the ones on his left, and say, "Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because-

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.

Then those "goats" are going to say, "Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?" He will answer them, "I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me--you failed to do it to me." Then those "goats" will be herded to their eternal doom, but the "sheep" to their eternal reward.

This is a difficult passage to understand. For those so inclined, this could be seen as good grounds for a sermon on the necessity of living a godly life, lest you loose your salvation. In my experience this story has been grounds primarily for brow-knitting and head-scratching, and generally a rubber-stamp certification as a "problem passage". Most would interpret this either as a weeding out of the "sinners" from the "saints" (if you're willing to believe that only Christians are capable of compassion), or a weeding out of the false Christians (whose selfishness betrays their real allegiance) from the true. It is interesting to me that the commentaries I browsed seemed determined to miss the point of the first part of the passage. They're quite willing to accept the goat's damnation as resulting from their selfish lifestyle (as we know, all non-Christians are sinful and depraved) but seem inexplicably befuddled about the reason for the sheep's acceptance. I would be grateful if someone could explain to me how this parable is the least bit unclear about what distinguishes a sheep from a goat. Failing that, I will take it as self-evident that this parable teaches that the sheep (those bound for paradise) are those who are compassionate and selfless.

This parable fits well with 1 John's love-centric take on salvation, as well as the "faith without works is dead" message of James. It just recently occurred to me that it also has a universalist ring to it. I suppose I always thought this parable was about separating the false Christians from the true, but there's nothing in the parable its self to indicate that. In fact, is says explicitly at the beginning that this is the judgment of the whole earth. And on what is the whole earth being Judged? Love. Servanthood. And not a word about Church attendance, praying the Prayer, or sound doctrine.

I wouldn't ask you to build your whole concept of salvation on a single parable. Far be it from me to take a passage out of context. Aside from John and James, another passage that comes to mind is Matthew 7, which shows that works aren't everything. But intriguingly, the main point of this passage also seems to be that it's not your professions or beliefs, it's your attitudes and actions that are important to God.

It struck me the other night that most of what Jesus teaches is not theology per se, and when it is, it's always very practical. Jesus' teaching mostly focuses on how you ought to live, and more specifically on the attitude of your heart. Furthermore, the only times Jesus got really cheesed off was talking to the religious elite, who annoyed him to no end by obsessing over theological and religious perfection while forgetting to live with compassion and joy.

It seems very significant to me that all the creeds and doctrines about the trinity, the nature of Christ, salvation, etc. were created long after the Bible was written. Much like the Pharisees with the Hebrew Scriptures, the Religious powers of the day thought the teachings of Jesus and the apostles were to vague and open to various interpretations. They felt obliged to comb through scripture and distill it's enigmatic fragments of theology into a cohesive, consistent, incontestable whole. Taking a step back, it seems increasingly clear to me that the primary goal of the Biblical authors (and even of Jesus himself) was to provide a guide for living, rather than a standard for orthodoxy.

The Gospels are awash with narrative. I think the stories of Jesus interacting with the people - feeding them, healing them, living with them - are included for more than just plot advancement, proof of Jesus' divinity, or fodder for modern Sunday School classes. It strikes me that Jesus seldom seems to be on a mission to convert people, or even to correct their theological errors. Maybe Jesus' healings and miracles were done to lend credence to his teachings, or maybe his teachings were simply an extension of his ministry of healing. What if Jesus saw doctrine as more means than end? What if his ultimate goal was to bring hope and joy; to make givers and livers out of hoarders and rule-followers? Maybe we could even see Mark's Messianic secret as an indication of a Christ who would rather help people in practical ways than establish a new religion?

I don't know if I'd go as far as to say that the Bible doesn't value correct doctrine - several epistles were written primarily to combat destructive heresies - but it seems to me that doctrine consistently takes a back seat to godly action (and action takes a back seat to the attitude of our hearts). Suppose God really is more concerned with how we act (and why) than what our theological beliefs are. In that case what matters isn't whether you call yourself a Christian or whether you can sign your name at the bottom of any particular creed or statement of faith, but the way you live. Not what you find, but how you seek.

I think we could all agree that someone with accurate theology (whatever you believe that to be) who lives a self-serving, hypocritical life is missing the point. Can we not extrapolate that to say that someone who lives humbly and selflessly but who doesn't have the right answers is free from guilt? (Isn't that what the parable of the sheep and the goats indicates?) Where did we get this narrow, doctrine-focused view of Godliness?

I'll leave you with a few much-beloved words from the Apostle Clive:

But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me... For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?